


Tuesday's Roses

by DontTouchMySpaceBuns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bartender Keith (Voltron), But mostly fluff, F/F, F/M, Florist Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I'll add more tags later probably, Keith is also a mess, M/M, Shiro is in a coma, Slow Burn, They're trying okay, lance is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-16 12:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontTouchMySpaceBuns/pseuds/DontTouchMySpaceBuns
Summary: Keith hasn’t been right since the accident. His brother is in a coma and it’s all his fault. That’s what people keep telling him, anyway.Lance doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life. He’s twenty-four, with no clue where he’ll end up five years from now.After the two collide one stormy, autumn evening, nothing is ever the same. Sure, they’re broken, but they might just be able to find their missing pieces within one another.AKA Keith uses Shiro’s hospitalization as an excuse to see the cute florist. Shit gets fluffy.





	1. 10 Days PA (Post-Accident)

The bruises had yellowed a bit. _That’s a good thing, right?_   Keith wondered, tugging his shirt back down. He was pretty sure it was supposed to happen, anyway. Didn't make much of a difference to him.

He took two aspirin to take the edge off and went back to watching Netflix on his couch. He wasn’t even sure what he was watching anymore. Something about ghosts…?

The fan above him spun slowly, but enough to cause a distraction. Keith watched as it went around, resting his head on the back of the couch. At this rate, it was more entertaining than the stuff on-screen.

Ten days. This had been his routine for _ten days._ That wouldn’t have bothered him so much if said routine was even remotely productive. The only thing he’d managed to do was blow through a solid four seasons of _Supernatural_.

 _This is sad,_ Keith realized suddenly. He was wallowing. Since when did he become a wallower?

Shiro would kill him.

He couldn’t keep sitting here—any longer on this couch and he thought he might lose it. He wasn’t going to disappoint his brother again. What could he do to get himself out of the house?

Groceries. He needed cheese.

It was eight o’clock in the evening. The sun was going down and Keith was pretty sure it was going to rain, but cheese quesadillas suddenly seemed like the best thing in the world to him.

He turned off the TV and hopped in the shower. The water stung his split skin, but soothed everywhere else. It was just the thing he needed to wake up. He towel-dried his hair before leaving the bathroom. A t-shirt and some dark jeans later, he was out the door.

Keith immediately realized that the store was too far to walk to. He normally would’ve taken his bike, but… that was kind of in a million pieces. If his friend, Pidge, was the engineering wizard they claimed to be, he’d have it back in a week or two. Until then, though, it looked like public transport was his best bet.

He made sure he had enough money in his wallet for the bus before setting off down the street. Two blocks, he could do that.

He was making progress. Slowly, but progress all the same. Keith heard his brother’s words echo in his mind: _Patience yields focus._

Well, Keith had never been a very patient person. Maybe it was high time he worked on that.

*** 

“Mari, come back here—Mari!”

Lance stumbled over his own feet running after his niece, nearly tipping a vase. His hand shot out just in time to catch it before it crashed to the floor.

“Marisol Carla Andre McClain!” He shouted, though he doubted the seven-year-old was paying him any attention.

Honestly, who’s idea was it to let him babysit?

 _"Tío_ _!_ Come find me!” He heard Mari’s voice coming from somewhere in the shop.

“Mari, _please_ , I’m supposed to be working—”

Lance’s pleas were cut short as the bell to the shop jingled. He turned, expecting to find a customer, but was relieved to find his sister standing there instead.

“Vic!” He smiled, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. “Thank god you’re here.”

Victoria snorted. “Why? Is Mari giving you trouble?”

Lance’s face paled as he nodded. “Did she have something before she came? A cup or seven of black coffee, perhaps?”

Vic just rolled her eyes, socking him on the arm as she passed him. “She’s a kid, Lance. What did you expect?”

“Uh, to get some work done? I can’t watch her and run the shop at the same time.”

“I do it all the time.” She flicked his nose. “You’re just weak.”

Lance stuck his tongue out at her.

“ _Mamá?”_ Mari poked her head out from behind a nearby flower display. Her face broke out into a wide grin when she saw Victoria standing behind the counter. “You’re back!”

“Sure am.” Vic smiled and held out her arms. Her daughter practically flew into them. “Did you have fun with _Tío_ Lance?”

Mari nodded. “Yeah. We played hide and seek.”

“More like _you_ played.” Lance grumbled, too quiet for Victoria to hear.

“Well, I’m going to go pick up Ben.” She said, turning back to her brother. “Thanks for watching Mari. You’re the best.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “Yeah, no problem. Tell Ben I said hi.”

“I will. Don’t forget to lock up.”

“Bye, _Tío_.” Mari waved.

“Bye, _Mija_.” Lance knelt to her height and tapped her playfully on the nose. “No more sugar for you, okay?”

Mari giggled and stuck her tongue out at him. _Gee,_ Lance thought. _Wonder where she picked that up._

Victoria took her daughter’s hand and led her out of the shop. How she did it all—he’d never quite understand. She was a single mother with two kids _and_ her own business. If that wasn’t impressive, Lance didn’t know what was. Vic was always so sure of herself, something he’d had secretly hoped would rub off on him. It had yet to do so.

Suddenly, a low rumble came from outside. Lance looked over at the window, where a light rain had begun to fall on the other side of the glass. The clouds above were dark, indicating a downpour soon. His found himself smiling.

 _It’s been a while since it rained like this,_ he realized, and took a moment to listen to droplets hit the roof. If he concentrated, he could smell the petrichor above the heavy floral aroma of the shop.

Tranquility—he hadn’t experienced that in a while, either.

Lance moved around a lot. Not from place-to-place, per se, but he couldn’t remember the last time he kept a job for more than a few weeks. besides this one, of course—but the flower shop was different. It was family.

Partners never seemed to stick around, either. He flirted with just about everybody, but getting any of those people to notice him wasn’t as easy as it looked.

Regardless, he got by. He had a few steady factors in his life: family, a select few friends, and, of course, the flower shop. He managed to pay the bills with that and a couple of other odd jobs he managed to pick up on the side. He didn’t have it bad—he just thought it would be nice to know what came next for once.

Lance ducked behind the counter. He whipped out his phone and plugged it into the speakers. Whenever Vic was around, he never got control of the music, but she wasn’t, so he did.

His music taste was a lot like him; flaky, unpredictable. One minute you’d be listening to a bop from _Panic! At the Disco_ and the next you’d be plugging your ears to protect yourself from a _We are Number One_ remix. Today, though, he was feeling a little bit of _Mariana’s Trench._

What could he say? He’d really been digging _B Team_ lately.

He grabbed a broom from the supply closet and started sweeping around the daisy display. The bristles hit the floor in time with the beat until Lance lost himself in it, swinging his hips and humming along. He only had an hour left until he had to close up shop, and he fully intended to spend it dancing.

Rain, music, flowers—it was the perfect way to spend an evening.

Until it wasn’t.

The door to the flower shop burst open, and someone came barreling in. They rushed past Lance, throwing him off balance. He fell backwards into the rose display with a yelp.

“Agh!” He felt the thorns dig into his arms. “What the hell, man?”

The stranger turned, as if they’d just barely noticed Lance was there. They pulled their hood back, and—

_Oh._

Lance’s night just got a lot more interesting.

***

The good news? Keith got cheese.

The bad news? He also got drenched.

To top it all off, he was stuck standing on a crowded shuttle, trying to ignore the aching in his side. The rain had only gotten worse since he left the house, and the sun was on its way out.

Yep, things were going _great._

No way was he walking home in this. Two blocks felt like a million when all of Lake Superior was in your shoes, and he refused to admit that the thunder made him antsy (even though it totally did). He supposed he could call Pidge and ask them for a ride. They’d take a few minutes to get here, though, and he didn’t want to wait outside for that, so he scanned the buildings lining the street for one close enough to provide shelter.

Most of their lights were off, but the closest, _Oopsie Daisy,_ was lit up like a beacon. Keith couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a flower shop, but it seemed as good a hiding place as any.

As soon as the bus stopped, he raced for the crosswalk. Puddle after puddle soaked the cuffs of his jeans. He really shouldn’t have been running. No, like, his doctor specifically told him _not_ to. Several times.

But it was Keith. Honestly, what did you expect?

It didn’t take him long before he was at the door. He thought someone might’ve been standing inside, but he didn’t process that before he pulled it open and burst into the shop—because “impulse control” wasn’t a concept he understood—and then he was safe. He took a deep breath, inhaling the intense, flowery scent around him. He almost gagged.

“Agh!”

And, just like that, the relief was gone.

Keith whirled around, only to find that yes, there _had,_ in fact, been someone in the shop, and that he _had,_ in fact, managed to push them into a giant display of thorny, red roses.

_Nice going, Keith._

“What the hell, man?” The guy he’d pushed struggled to get up, but his arms were all but pinned to the display.

Keith, completely one to miss the irony of pushing someone into a _bed of roses,_ immediately flew into apology mode.

“Shit—I am so sorry,” He extended a hand, and the victim accepted. Begrudgingly, it looked like. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The stranger raised an—holy shit. _Pretty_ stranger. Bright blue eyes hid beneath wisps of short, ruffled brown hair. A scattered few freckles adorned his face and arms, and probably a _whole bunch of other places—_

“Didn’t look?” Pretty boy folded his arms. “Dude, I was standing right there. You didn’t need to.”

“I know, I know. Christ, I’m sorry, I just—the rain—I was trying to get off the bus, and I—” Keith stopped himself. He was acting like a damn fool. Not that it was entirely his fault; Pretty Boy was a regular bronze Adonis.

But Keith digressed.

The handsome stranger’s face broke out into a smile, and Keith short circuited.

“Hey, I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” Pretty Boy extended a hand. “The name’s Lance.”

Keith managed to take it. “I’m Keith.”

“Nice to meet you, Keith. I take it you’re walking home?”

“Not by choice.”

“Bummer. Well, you’re welcome to stick around until the weather clears up. I wouldn’t want to walk in that, either.”

Keith breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

Pretty Boy— _Lance—_ turned and grabbed a broom off of the floor. He probably dropped it when Keith barged in. He set it up against the wall and closed the door properly before turning his attention to the display Keith had ruined. Luckily, the damage didn’t look too bad. But, then again, he didn’t know what it looked like before.

“There’s a chair over by the desk if you want to sit,” Lance said, not bothering to look back at him. “I’m just cleaning up.”

Keith thanked him again and took a seat. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do while he waited, but he didn’t mind the view. Of the rain, of course—definitely not the hot florist.

His ears picked up the song playing over the speakers. He recognized the artist immediately, but not quite the song.

“Is this Mariana’s Trench?” Keith asked, perking up a bit.

Lance chuckled as he fixed the roses. “Yeah. You like ‘em?”

“Yeah. My… my brother introduced me.” _Damn, Shiro—playing matchmaker from a coma. That’s dedication._

“Your brother has good taste.” Lance stood up, brushing the dirt from his palms. “Well, only a few casualties. Nothing I’m about to charge you for.”

Keith blanked. He didn’t even think about that. “Oh. Uh, thanks. Again, I’m really sorry.”

“No biggie.” Lance waved him off. “So, what other music do you like?”

Keith thought for a moment. He never had a great answer to that question; people tended to make fun of him for responding with _My Chemical Romance._ “It depends. Some days I like alternative, others I’m into Ed Sheeran.” Well, it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Hey, me too!” Lance smiled again. “It’s like we’re the same person.”

Keith didn’t see how liking the same music made them “the same person”, but he wasn’t about to point that out. Not to that pretty face.

He ran a hand back through his damp hair, attempting to ruffle it into submission. He struggled with it almost every morning, and it was even more unruly when wet. He wished he’d taken the time to braid it before going out.

“Oh my god.”

He looked up to find Lance staring at him with wide eyes.

“What?” Keith asked.

“You have a mullet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. What about it?”

“Uh, nothing.” Lance turned around again, but Keith could’ve sworn he heard him murmur: “ _Business in the front, party in the back.”_

He decided to ignore that.

Keith pulled out his phone. He figured he should probably text Pidge.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** Hey since you’re taking forever with my bike could you give me a ride home from the bus stop?

Pidge’s response was almost immediate.

 _ **Angry Smurf:**_ Rephrase that

 _ **I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):**_ Hey since you’re an absolute angel for offering to fix my bike for me could you possibly give me a ride home from the bus stop?

 _ **Angry Smurf:**_ Better. Send me the address and I’ll be there in 10.

Keith double checked the flower shop’s location and did as he was told. Pidge was usually on time, so he figured it might be best to get comfortable while he waited.

He glanced around the shop. It wasn’t very big, but he still thought there were probably more flowers in here than he’d ever seen in his entire life. More recognizable plants were displayed towards the front, by the windows. The roses were right behind the door. As you got closer to the register, though, things got harder to name. Pots full of pre-arranged bouquets lined the walls and shelves, along with dangling bits of shrubbery.

He suddenly wondered why he hadn’t bothered to check it out before. He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was a relaxing place.

The company wasn’t half-bad, either… to look at.

"Is there anything I can do to help?” Keith asked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I feel bad barging in here and taking up space.”

Lance looked up from what he was doing. “Oh, it’s no trouble. I’m almost done here, anyway.” He paused. “If you really want to, though, I guess you could bring in a few of the plants from outside. Usually, rain is fine, but it’s coming down pretty hard. Better safe than sorry.”

“Sure.” Keith was already on his feet. He made for the door, and pulled it open to the commotion of outside. He flinched as a gust of wind blew inward, spattering the shop floor with droplets. There were only a few plants outside, so he was able to bring them all back in two trips.

“Where do you want these?” Keith asked, a pot in each arm.

Lance seemed to think for a moment. “Just put them behind the counter. I’ll put them back out in the morning, if the rain lets up. Thanks.”

"No problem.” Keith moved for the desk. “Is this place yours?”

Lance laughed. “Oh, god, no. Can you imagine?” He put the broom back up, still smiling. “The shop is my sister’s. I just work here.”

"Oh. Do you like it?”

“For the most part. I like being around family.” He sat down on the stool Keith had used earlier. “What about you? What do you do?”

Keith finished putting the pots away. “I’m a bartender down at Smythe’s.”

“Really? I don’t think I’ve been there before.”

“You should check it out sometime.” Keith wasn’t quite sure where that came from, but he decided to go with it.

“Hm… okay. Maybe I will.”

Just then, a car horn sounded outside. The two boys turned their head to look out the window, where Pidge’s truck was parked on the curb.

_Damn._

“Is that your ride?” Lance asked.

“Yeah.” Keith stood and pulled his hood back on. “Thanks for letting me hole up here.”

“No problem.” Lance smiled. “You made my shift a little less boring.”

Before Keith could respond, the rose display caught his eye again. He didn’t want to leave just yet, and he _did_ have someone who’d appreciate something to liven up their room…

“Hey, how much for a couple of roses?”

Lance cocked an eyebrow. “You mean, like, a bouquet?”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s twenty-five for a dozen.”

Keith pulled out a twenty and a ten from his pocket. “Would you mind?”

Lance nodded, abandoning the stool to grab one of their pre-arranged bouquets. He grabbed one from the display, making sure everything was intact after his fall, and brought it back over to the counter. Keith brushed past him so that they had switched places.

“Why the sudden interest?” Lance asked, already ringing him up on the register. “You got someone special?”

Keith snorted. “Something like that.”

“Alright. That’ll be twenty-five thirty-seven.”

Keith handed him the bills, and watched as Lance put them in the register. The florist absent-mindedly bopped his head to the music, which had switched to a song that Keith didn’t recognize. Lance’s hair swished back and forth gently, a tiny smile on his lips. It was _adorable._

“Here you go, Mullet.” Lance handed Keith his change with one hand and the bouquet with the other.

“Mullet?”

“I give everyone nicknames,” Lance winked. “Thanks for coming in.”

Keith blanked. Was that… did he just _wink_ at him?

Dear god.

“Yeah. Uh, no problem. Thanks for the flowers.”

“Anytime.”

Lance offered him a little wave as he turned to leave. Keith tried to hide the blush on his cheeks with his hood as he unzipped his jacket, tucking the bouquet carefully under one side to protect it from the rain. He couldn’t get the door open fast enough.

Pidge’s truck was parked a little further from the shop than he would’ve liked, but he managed to get to it without getting the bouquet drenched. He yanked open the door and hopped into the passenger seat. He tossed the roses into the backseat.

Pidge folded their arms. “What took you so long?”

Keith, still red in the face, buckled his seatbelt. “Sorry. I went in there to wait out the rain and I… bought some flowers.”

The car began moving forward.

"Some flowers?” Pidge snorted, eyes on the road. “For who?”

The question gave Keith pause. He frowned, looking down at his shoes. “You know who.”

“…oh.” Pidge pursed their lips. “Yeah. Okay.”

They let the sound of rain fill the silence before Keith spoke again.

“I mean, the florist was hot, too.”

“Holy shit. Tell me everything.”

And Keith did, from Lance’s eyes to his angelic laugh. He played up a few details for Pidge’s sake, trying to keep the mood light, but they didn’t seem to mind. For both of them, the distraction was welcome.

“Did you get his number?” Pidge asked.

“No.”

“Dumbass.” Pidge rolled their eyes. “Well, it’s Tuesday. That means if you come back here every week you’ll get to see him.”

“You’re assuming he works every Tuesday,” Keith protested. “Besides, we just met. Wouldn’t it be weird if I just started showing up all the time?”

“Lots of people visit flower shops on a regular basis. You just have to become one of them.” Pidge turned onto his street.

“I can’t just become someone who goes to a place called ‘ _Oopsie Daisy’._ Pidge, come on.”

Pidge pulled up to the curb. They turned to him with one eyebrow raised, unimpressed. “Keith, you haven’t left the house in days. The _one_ time you do, you happen to meet someone worth telling me about. I don’t believe in fate, but that’s about as close as it gets.”

“We just talked about music. We’re not soulmates or anything.”

“All I’m saying is that you’re allowed to have a little fun. Just because your brother isn’t here—”

“Pidge,” Keith’s voice was strained. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“He’s in the hospital, not dead. Stop acting like he is.”

He wanted to get angry, wanted to snap at Pidge and tell them to butt out—but their words held more truth than he cared to admit.

When he finally worked up the nerve to speak, his voice was soft. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

"He wouldn’t want you to put your life on hold for him. Live a little.” Pidge socked him lightly on the arm. “I gotta run back and close up shop. You gonna be okay?”

"Yeah.” Keith wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. Now, get the hell out of my car.”


	2. 16 Days PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vic is the best/worst sister ever.

“Hunk, for the _last time,_ you can’t go wrong with a speech and some flowers. Throw in a sunset over the water and you’re golden.”

“I know, but that just seems so… unoriginal.” Hunk slumped in his seat. “Shay’s not unoriginal. She’s perfect.”

“And she loves you.” Lance rolled his eyes. “Hunk, my buddy, my man, you got this. She’s not gonna care how the proposal goes down as long as you’re the one popping the question.”

Hunk sighed. “Yeah, I guess. I just want it to be everything she ever wanted, you know?”

“Forgive me for sounding like a complete and utter sap, but _you’re_ everything she ever wanted. Have a little faith in yourself.”

Hunk stuck out his lower lip. “Why can’t I just propose to you? You’d be so much easier.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you just called me easy and consider that a compliment.” Lance huffed, standing up. “Anyway, what do you want for dinner?”

Hunk shrugged. “I was just gonna make something—”

“Nope. You’ve got some thinking to do. Pick a place and we’ll order in.”

“Agh, fine. Pizza.”

“Excellent choice, Lover Boy.”

Lance pulled out his phone and dialed the number. He ordered one meat-lovers and one cheese, even though Hunk’s culinary ass always got on him whenever he ordered anything without toppings. Lance would be lying if he said he didn’t do it just to piss him off sometimes.

As Hunk clicked through different locations on his laptop, Lance pulled out his phone. He started scrolling mindlessly through Pinterest, pinning anything he thought might help with the proposal. As much as he pretended to be annoyed by Hunk’s incessant worrying, he would do anything for him. They’d been best friends for years, and damn him if he was going to leave his buddy in an hour of need.

It wasn’t what they’d normally be doing on a Monday night, pizza aside. Most days, Lance would come home from work and they’d play video games or try to make desert together. Well, Hunk would try. Lance would read him text posts while he sat on the kitchen counter. Regardless, they were about as close as friends could get.

Lance was raised to be a people person. He had a huge family, a pretty good-sized circle of friends and acquaintances. Because of this, he was seldom ever by himself. He shared a room with two of his brothers until he was seventeen, and even then he slept just down the hall from his parents. He was lucky enough to have Hunk, whom he’d known since high school, offer to be his roommate when they graduated. Lance had been afraid he would have to get a place all by himself.

Maybe that’s why he was a little apprehensive about Hunk proposing. When he and Shay got hitched, they would get their own place, and Lance would be left to live by himself. He wasn’t sure what he was so afraid of, but the mere thought of being alone in an apartment for more than twenty-four hours scared the bajeezus out of him.

But he wanted Hunk to be happy, more than anything, so Lance kept his big mouth shut for once. Shay was good for Hunk, and he wanted them to go out, live life, and give him a million adorable nieces and nephews.

So he kept telling himself that the fear was just a silly little side-effect, and that he’d get used to living on his own just fine. Hopefully.

“Hey, I was thinking yellow and purple for our wedding colors.” Hunk turned his laptop around to show him a picture of some string lights. “What do you think?”

“I think she has to say yes first,” Lance chuckled. “But yeah, whatever you want. Just make sure she’s cool with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I just want to be prepared.”

“Of course you do.”

The truth is, Lance could imagine it perfectly. A rustic, outdoor wedding with sprigs of lavender on every table. Guests would be laughing and dancing, twirling each other under strings of warm, yellow lights. It would be getting late, and Lance would make one of his infamous, slightly-drunken speeches that he secretly waited until the last minute to rehearse. Still, he could envision Hunk and Shay sitting at the table across from him, arms wrapped around each other, laughing at his god-awful jokes. Just like they always did.

The thought almost made him tear up. It wasn’t even his wedding, for god’s sake—he just really wanted Hunk to be able to have that. He deserved it.

“Wait, I’ll get to be the best man, right?” Lance asked suddenly, a note of panic in his voice. He realized that he hadn’t even thought to ask.

Hunk just laughed. “Dude, of course. Who else?”

“I dunno, maybe Pidge?” Lance shrugged. “You guys are close.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t known them since we were twelve. We aren’t roommates. Don’t worry, bro, your spot’s been secured.”

“Aw, bro.”

“On one condition.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“I get to be the best man at _your_ wedding.”

“Really? _That’s_ your condition?” Lance laughed. “Yeah, sure. _If_ I get married. You’re assuming someone would want to put up with all this—” he gestured down at himself. “—Twenty-four seven.”

“I do it.”

“Yeah, but you’re one in a million. How am I gonna find someone else like that?”

Hunk typed something on his laptop. “According to Google,” He announced. “There are seven billion people on Earth. That, divided by one million, equals seven-thousand. By your logic, that means that, somewhere out there, there six thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine other people exactly like me. At least half of those would probably be willing to marry you right now, on the spot.”

Lance blinked a few times, trying to process that.

“That was a whole mess of numbers, buddy,” He said slowly. “But I’m gonna assume you were trying to be supportive, so thanks.”

“No problem.”

 The pizza arrived a little over ten minutes later. By that point, the boys hadn’t gotten much further in the proposal-planning process. Hunk was grilling Lance about what flowers he should get for Shay. He thought she’d like daisies, while Lance thought he should stick with a classic rose. In the end, both remembered that Shay was very allergic to pollen, and wouldn’t appreciate a bouquet either way.

Hunk’s face suddenly lit up. “I’ve got it.”

“Huh?”

“I’m gonna buy her a puppy.”

“You’re gonna—what?”

“A puppy, Lance. A baby dog.”

“I know what a puppy is, dipshit. Why do you have to propose with one?”

Hunk gestured wildly with his hands. “I don’t know! It just… seems right?”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, whatever. Get her an animal. Responsibility is the best gift.”

“I’m beginning to rethink the best man position.”

“What? No!” Lance hopped off the counter, letting his slice of pizza fall back into the box. “I’m sorry. Yes, get her a puppy. Puppies are cute. Shay is cute. It works. Do you still love me?”

Hunk looked over at his roommate, who was now lying on his back with his head on Hunk’s leg. Lance’s lip was fake-quivering.

“I don’t know why I put up with you.” Hunk muttered, but he couldn’t keep a smile from plaguing his lips.

“Because I’m cute as hell.” Lance grinned, sitting back up and returning to his pizza. “What kind of puppy?”

Hunk said yorkie at the same time Lance said Golden Retriever, and they spent the next fifteen minutes arguing over which would make Shay the happiest.

Hunk won.

***

The roses looked a bit dead, Keith noticed.

They sat in a plain vase on Shiro’s windowsill, bringing a pop of color to an otherwise sterile environment. While they hadn’t completely wilted, some had begun to go limp, and others were growing darker.

On second thought, he probably should’ve been paying attention to what Allura was saying instead of the flowers.

“—and he’s been doing better than expected.” She finished, tapping a pen against her clipboard. When Keith didn’t respond, her face softened. “Keith, are you listening?”

He turned his head to look at her, embarrassed. “Sorry, yeah. It’s just… a lot to take in.”

Allura nodded. “I know.” She sat down on one of the chairs, motioning for Keith to take the other. “Let’s talk.”

Keith, rather awkwardly, obliged. It was a little weird, being on personal terms with his doctor—but it wasn’t like they were strangers. Allura was related to a close friend of Keith’s, who also happened to be his boss down at Smythe’s. His name was Coran, and he owned the place. Anyway, after the accident, Keith had requested Allura specifically. They had become rather close friends after meeting a few months before, and it made things a lot easier and more comfortable knowing that he had someone in his corner, watching over his brother.

“How are you?” Allura asked, blue eyes narrowed in concern.

Keith shrugged. “I’m doing alright. Not much pain, anymore, and my side is almost completely healed—”

“I meant up here, Keith.” She tapped her temple with a finger.

“…oh.”

Allura set her clipboard down and clasped her hands on the table. She always did that when she was about to drop some mom-advice. “I know you and Shiro were— _are—_ close. Closer than most siblings. Being without him all of the sudden must be very difficult, and I want to make sure you’re handling everything in a healthy way. Are you going out? Seeing friends?”

Keith opened his mouth to lie, but figured he shouldn’t, especially to a medical professional. “Well, I mean, I didn’t before the accident. I don’t have many friends.”

“What about Pidge? Or that one girl you told me about, Romelle?”

Keith shrugged. “Pidge is fixing my bike, so I see them a lot. Romelle comes to visit me at the bar sometimes.” He nudged Allura’s hand. “She keeps asking about my hot doctor friend.”

Allura’s face reddened, and she cleared her throat. “Yes—well, that’s good. Not the hot doctor thing, though, that’s good, too—agh. Just, don’t become a hermit, alright, Keith?”

Her speech sounded oddly similar to the one Pidge had given him a week before.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“I’m always here for you, if that means anything.” Allura smiled.

Keith did his best to return it. “Yeah, it does. You’ve been great with all this.”

“It’s my job.” Allura winked, grabbing her clipboard again before standing up. “Well, I’ve got other patients to attend to, and I think you’d like some time alone with your brother. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

The doctor disappeared into the hallway, leaving Keith alone with his brother. Though, since Shiro was unconscious, he supposed he was technically all by himself.

Keith examined his brother for a moment, realizing he hadn’t taken a good look at him in a while. His injuries had to have gotten better since then… right?

Well, ish. The scrapes on Shiro’s face were fading. Well, aside from the jagged scar across his nose. Bandages crept up the right side of his neck, from his chin down to his shoulders and then beneath the blanket.

Keith didn’t want to think about the damage that lay under there. Allura had told him, but he had yet to see it for himself. He knew his brother had suffered a couple of broken ribs, a shit-ton of bruises, and a nasty laceration to his left thigh, but the worst injury was… a little hard to think about. Mostly because Keith had seen it happen.

The bike ride was supposed to be a short one. Shiro was staying over at Keith’s apartment for a _Game of Thrones_ marathon, when they both decided to grab some snacks. They’d hopped on Keith’s motorcycle and taken it for a ride down to the local grocery store.

Everything was fine until they started heading back. Keith was taking extra care as he drove, since he had a passenger and a few bags of snacks to worry about, but that apparently didn’t do much, because the second intersection they passed through—

_Stop._

Keith reeled his thoughts back in. He unclenched his fists from where they’d stiffened at his sides, and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Long story short, his brother only had one arm now.

Looking at Shiro like this—tranquil, still… was so unlike anything Keith had ever known him to be. He was always cracking jokes and spouting brotherly advice, trying so hard to be the father that Keith had never had. He never said it outright, but the way he acted more than conveyed as such. It was annoying at first, but Keith quickly grew to appreciate it. _Him._ In some ways, like that, being adopted into Shiro’s family felt warmer than being born into it.

Keith hated that this was all he had been reduced to. He hated that Shiro couldn’t sit up and tell him that it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. He wished his brother could contradict everything he’d been told about the accident, because that was _exactly_ what Shiro would do.

But he couldn’t. Keith was on his own.

So he talked. He was pretty sure Shiro couldn’t hear him, but that was the one upside to it all. He could say things that he would normally never let his brother hear. He ranted about asshole customers down at the bar, memories he had about him and Shiro—

How he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that cute florist boy since last week.

But he would never _actually_ tell Shiro that. He’d tease him relentlessly.

“Looks like I need to get you some new flowers.” Keith said, sparing a glance at the roses. “I’m going back to the shop tomorrow. I’m hoping Lance will be there.”

No reply.

“Well, if he’s not, that’s okay. I’ll just go home and watch Pretty Little Liars.” Not actually true, but he liked to imagine Shiro’s reaction if it were. “Anyway, Pidge says they’re almost done with my bike. I’m surprised, actually. I knew they was good, but… yeah. I’ll probably have it back by next week. I don’t know if I’ll be up to riding it by then, but it’ll be nice to have it sitting in the parking lot, you know?”

No reply.

“I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that you can’t respond, or the fact that I know exactly what you’d say if you could. _‘That bike’s dangerous, Keith. Just look what happened to me. Argh.’_ ” Keith wasn’t sure why he threw the “argh” in there, it just sounded appropriate. “Well, I’m not even sure I’ll go back to riding it. I guess it just depends on how I’m feeling when I get it back.”

No reply.

“Pidge misses you, you know. They ask how you’re doing all the time. Allura says they come to visit every once in a while—not as often as I do, but often enough. They come in with your fiancé.” He said the word “fiancé” with a bit of trepidation. “Yeah, he still won’t talk to me. Anyway, they’ll be happy to see you when you get back. I will, too.”

No reply.

“I miss you.”

No reply.

Keith sighed. He wasn’t sure what he expected.

He shouldered his bag and stood, taking one more look at his brother. He placed a hand on Shiro’s arm, careful to avoid any bandages.

“You better wake up soon, Takashit.” Keith said quietly. “I’m a shitty adult when you’re not around.”

The door clicked shut behind him a little too loudly.

***

(17 Days PA)

“Hey, Vic! What’s shakin’?”

Victoria gave her brother a once-over, concern in her eyes.

“Uh, your hands, apparently.” She said. “What’s up with that?”

Lance practically jittered over to the counter. “I’m on my fourth cup of coffee. Don’t give me that look, Hunk kept me up all night with proposal ideas for Shay.”

“Proposal ideas?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you! He’s gonna pop the question.”

“Really? Tell him I said good luck.”

“Yup.”

Lance was already putting on his apron. He struggled with the strings, but managed to get them tied with some effort. He was pretty sure his blood was pure caffeine by that point.

“Do we have any orders?” He asked, a little too eager.

Vic eyed him hesitantly. “Uh, yeah. Someone’s coming in to pick up some roses this afternoon. You gonna be able to keep your hands still long enough to handle it?”

“Victoria, _mi hermana,_ you have so little faith in me.”

Vic rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Get on it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Lance tried not to run to the rose display. He hadn’t fallen into it since last week, and he intended to keep it that way. He still had scratches on his arms from last time.

He plucked one of the pre-arranged bouquets from the bin and took it back to the counter. Vic told him that the customer would be here any minute, so he set it on the top and went about his daily routine.

Red roses; they got that order a lot. Usually, they were for a customer’s significant other, or for a wedding. A surprising amount of the time, they ended up being apology flowers. Lance could usually tell by a customer’s face when they came in. If they were a little nervous or excited, the bouquet was for a proposal of some sort. If they seemed desperate, it meant the customer had screwed up somehow and was looking to buy their way out of it. A calm, relaxed demeanor indicated a casual gift—those were probably Lance’s favorite to arrange. It meant whoever would be receiving them had a partner who cared enough to remind them just how much they were loved every once in a while.

Some customers, though, just didn’t make sense. Lance remembered the guy from last week, who’d rushed in to seek shelter from the rain. The situation was odd enough before the stranger had asked to buy a dozen red roses, but he hadn’t worn any of the faces Lance was so familiar with. Not shame, not anticipation. In fact, it was something he couldn’t quite place. He seemed almost… somber? Not the kind expression he expected from someone buying flowers.

Like he said, though, the situation was already weird. The guy was probably just in a pinch.

Lance himself had never received flowers. It didn’t bother him so much, since he was around them all day anyway, but he did sometimes envy the recipients of the bouquets he arranged. How would it be to have someone care like that?

He did, however, enjoy giving them. He loved the look on peoples’ faces when he handed them a bouquet. It lit up like Time Square, and the “thank you” hugs that followed were usually cuddly and warm. It’d been a while since he had the chance to do it, though. His relationships didn’t usually last long, and they ended messy when they did. So, unless he was giving it to a friend or family member, bouquets rarely found themselves in Lance’s hands outside of the shop or delivery truck.

“Hey, Hunk’s gonna have us do his wedding, right?” Vic asked, coming up behind her brother. “I mean, we could give him a pretty good discount.”

“I’m pretty sure that goes without saying,” Lance shrugged. “But I can ask to make sure. Shay still has to accept him, though.”

“You say that like there’s a chance she won’t.”

“Ha. Yeah, you’re right.”

Just then, the door to the shop opened slowly. The florists looked up.

Lance sputtered.

“Hey, I’m here to pick up a bouquet…?”

Dark hair, dark eyes, a leather jacket. He fit the bad-boy stereotype like a glove—exactly how Lance remembered him.

…Kevin, was it?

“Keith Kogane?” Vic asked, looking down at her list.

Not-Kevin-apparently nodded. “That’s me.”

“Got it right here. Lance, you want to ring him up?”

Lance shook himself out of his stupor and nodded.

Keith came up to the counter, a small smile playing on his lips. He remembered Lance—he could see it in his eyes.

“Didn’t know you’d be working today.” He observed.

Lance folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Are you disappointed?”

“No, just surprised.”

Vic stepped up beside her brother. “Wait, you two know each other?”

“Ish. He bumped into me last week.” Lance tossed Keith a sly look.

“I said I was sorry!” Keith protested. A light pink dusted his cheeks, and Lance tried _very hard_ to ignore that.

“Oh!” Vic seemed to remember something. “So _this_ is the guy you told me about!” She nudged Lance and lowered her voice so only he could hear. “He is nice on the eyes.”

“So!” Lance shot to his feet, smiling wide to hide his discomfort. He kicked Vic under the counter. “Let’s get you checked out, huh?”

He started punching numbers into the cash register. He noticed Keith watching him out of the corner of his eye and tried not to focus on it. _You barely know the guy—quit it._

“I’m Victoria,” Lance’s sister extended a hand to him. “But you can call me Vic. I figure if you’re on a first-name basis with my brother, you should be on the same with me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Keith shook her hand twice before letting go. “So, you own this place?”

“Yep. Started it five years ago. Lance has been here since the start.”

It was true. Lance remembered Vic coming to him after finding this place in a newspaper ad. She went on and on about how she’d been dying to start her own business for ages, and how this was the perfect opportunity. She offered Lance a job before she even bought the building.

Keith’s eyes widened a fraction. “Really? That’s impressive.”

“Aw, it’s nothing compared to my baby bro, here.” She elbowed Lance. “He works here, plus a dozen other jobs.”

_Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ He glared up at Vic, a plea in his eyes. He knew what she was doing, and she needed to stop right _now._

But it was too late.

“Like what?” Keith asked.

“Uh,” Lance rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, Vic’s exaggerating. I pick up local one-time things whenever I can. Sometimes it’s yard-work, others I babysit.”

“He sings, too.” Vic, _please._ “He does gigs every once in a while. He’s a regular at the Winter Talent Show they do here every year.”

“Buuut that’s not important,” Lance kicked his sister again as he finished ringing up their customer. “Alright, you’re good to go, man. Thanks for stopping by.”

Keith reached over and took the bouquet in his arms. “You know,” He said. “The bar I work at, Smythe’s, has an open mic night every Friday at eight. The performers usually make pretty good tips.”

Vic’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Lance! That sounds like it’s right up your alley.”

“Ha, yeah, that sounds cool.” Lance could not have felt more awkward. “I’ll… look into it.”

Keith smiled again. _Why does the universe hate me?_ “It was good to see you again. Thanks for the flowers.”

“No problem,” Lance managed a little wave. “See you around, Mullet.”

The blush on Keith’s cheeks was a small victory as he turned to Lance’s sister. “It was nice to meet you, Vic.”

“You too, Keith. Come back anytime.” _Vic, you are my least favorite sibling._

The raven-haired boy stepped out of the shop then, and Lance could finally breathe. His hands were shaking even worse now, and the caffeine was only part of it this time. Vic watched him with a knowing smirk, arms folded smugly. God, he hated her.

“’Mullet’, huh?” She nudged him again. “Nice one.”

“Shut up,” Lance growled. “Don’t you have better things to do than ruin my life?”

“Aw, but you’re my baby brother. It’s my job.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh, jeez, looks like I need to get my hearing checked, because I _know_ my star employee didn’t just insult me.”

“Just let me mope in peace.”

Vic laughed, and ruffled his hair before stepping into the back room.

His sister did that whenever Lance showed the slightest bit of interest in someone, and it drove him nuts. He wished she hadn’t been there when Keith came in, because he would’ve liked to talk with him some more. But no, Vic just _had_ to swoop in and ruin any chance he had at making a good second impression.

Well, okay. That wasn’t entirely true. Keith had all but invited him to open-mic night, and—

Wait a minute. _Vic_ had made that possible. If she hadn’t brought up the fact that Lance sang, Keith wouldn’t have mentioned it.

Vic, you sly dog.

No way was he going to thank her—he was still angry with her for sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong—but he supposed he should be grateful.

Lance whipped out his phone. He searched up the bar on Yelp!, trying to spell “Smythe’s” correctly and failing miserably. Still, it was at the top of the list. It directed him to the bar’s website, where, smack-dab in the middle of the front page, a digital flyer for open-mic night resided.

_“PERFORMERS WANTED,”_ It read. “ _OPEN-MIC NIGHT AT 8PM; EMAIL CORANWIMBLETON@GMAIL.COM_ _FOR MORE DETAILS.”_

Lance studied the flyer for a moment. Would it be weird for him to show up? Would Keith think he was desperate?

“You should go.”

Lance looked up to find that Vic had teleported behind him yet again.

“I haven’t done a gig in a while, though.” He replied hesitantly. “What if it doesn’t go well?”

“It will,” Vic’s expression softened. “And if it doesn’t, you can drink yourself into oblivion.”

“Huh. Comforting.”

But Lance was seriously considering this. He screenshotted the flyer and got back to work, but it wasn’t forgotten by the time he got home that night. He opened up his laptop after Hunk went to bed, and started typing.

_“Hi, Mr. Smythe,_

_I saw the flyer for open-mic night on your website this morning, and it said to check in with you for more details. Is there any way I can get in on this?_

_Thank you,_

_Lance McClain.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh you guys are awesome!! The last chapter was received so well, and I'm excited to see where this goes. Thanks for sticking with this!  
> Also, you can pry Hunk and Shay's relationship from my cold, dead hands.
> 
> ~DontTouchMySpaceBuns


	3. 20 Days PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's friends suck.

“It’s been half-an-hour,” Pidge said, stirring their club soda. “I don’t think your boy is gonna show.”

“I’m not here for him, I’m here to work.” Keith rolled his eyes and went back to wiping down the counter.

The bar was busy enough on Fridays without open-mic night. With it, though, the numbers nearly doubled. Dozens of tipsy bodies crowded into a tiny, low-lit space made for a tense atmosphere, and Keith wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. It depended on the night.

Now, though? He wasn’t having the best time. Pidge and Romelle sat across the counter from him, talking and laughing. They showed up every Friday to listen to the music and have a few drinks (even though Pidge still had a year to go until they could have alcohol). While he appreciated their company, their teasing had gotten relentless as of late.

“Aw, look at him,” Romelle leaned into the shorter person. “He’s pouting.”

“Heartbreaking,” Pidge pulled out their phone and began to record. “And here we see the wild Keith in his natural habitat, handing out alcohol to distract himself from his own sorrows.”

“Screw you,” Keith growled, setting a glass down with a little more force than necessary. “I am _not_ pouting.”

“This is so sad. Romy, play Despacito.”

Romelle pulled out her phone, a wicked grin on her lips. Before she could do anything, Keith turned on his heel.

“I hate you both,” He grumbled, and moved to help some customers down at the other end of the bar.

He wasn’t pouting. He _wasn’t._

He was just a little disappointed.

He wasn’t sure why he expected Lance to show up. He mentioned open-mic night pretty offhandedly, and, if he recalled correctly, he didn’t even phrase it as an invitation. It was a stupid thing for him to be upset over, but that didn’t take away the sting whenever Pidge went and rubbed it in.

“What can I get for you?” He turned to the nearest customer, who sat a good five seats away from Keith’s terrible friends.

“A margarita for me, please,” He said. He turned to the woman beside him. “What do you want, babe?”

“I’ll take a beer,” She smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Keith grabbed the woman a beer and went about mixing the guy’s drink.

“Is it usually this busy on open-mic nights?” The man asked, leaning over the counter a bit. “This place is packed.”

Keith shrugged. “Most of the time. Lots of people signed up to perform tonight, though.”

“Huh.” The guy looked up at the stage, where the current performer was strumming a ukulele into the microphone. They weren’t bad, but nothing too outstanding. “Is there a list? We’re here to support a friend of ours, but we don’t know when he’s on.”

“He probably has one, but I don’t know where else you could find that out.” Keith handed him the drink. “Here.”

“Thanks, man.”

The people closest to the stage began clapping, and the ukulele player took a bow before leaving the stage. It remained empty for a few minutes while the next player got their stuff together.

Suddenly, a voice shrieked over the din.

“ _HUNK!?”_

The guy Keith had been speaking to whipped around, a huge smile stretching across his lips. “Pidge!” He exclaimed.

Pidge ran full-speed at him, practically catapulting themselves into the guy’s arms. Keith watched in confusion as they laughed; the two seemed like old friends.

“Uh, Pidge…?” He raised an eyebrow.

Pidge finally seemed to notice him standing there. They untangled themselves from Hunk and turned to face Keith.

“This is Hunk!” They said, beaming. “I told you about him, right?”

Keith racked his brain. He vaguely remembered a story or two, but nothing aside from that.

“Uh, yeah.” That didn’t ease his uncertainty. “How do you know each other, again?”

“We met in college,” The guy, Hunk, supplied. “We’ve been pretty close ever since.”

Pidge frowned. “I don’t know why I haven’t introduced you guys before now. Keith, Hunk. Hunk, Keith.”

Hunk extended a hand towards the bartender. “Nice to meet you. Pidge talks about you a lot.”

As he took it, Keith shot Pidge a look. “Do you, now?”

“All bad things,” Pidge waved a hand nonchalantly. “Hunk, whatcha doin’ here? I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

“I’m here for open-mic night. And sorry about that, I’ve been…” Hunk’s eyes flicked to the woman behind him, and his cheeks flushed. “Planning.”

Pidge’s eyes widened in surprise, and then excitement. “Dude!” They whisper-shouted. “Holy shit!”

“Shh!” Hunk clamped a hand over their mouth.

As if on cue, the woman came to stand beside him.

“Pidge, how are you?” She asked warmly.

The shorter person stepped forward to wrap her in a hug. “Shay! I’m good, what about you?”

“I’m doing great.”

Their conversation blurred together after that, and Keith lost track of what was going on. Who were these people, and how had he never met them before today? Pidge seemed to know both of them like the back of their hand. Usually, they introduced each other to people like that. Maybe Pidge had a secret life that Keith knew nothing about.

He was so wrapped up in their conversation that he didn’t notice when the next performer stepped up on stage.

“Keith,” Hunk suddenly turned to him. “You and Pidge have been friends for a long time, right?”

Keith nodded. “Since middle-school.”

“Got any stories?”

Before Keith could respond with a “hell yes”, Pidge pointed up at the stage.

“Look, it’s Lance!”

Now _that_ caught his attention. Keith’s head whipped around. Just above and in front of the sea of people, he spotted someone on stage. He wore a faded gray t-shirt with some sort of logo on it, and a pair of jeans and boots. A guitar rested on his lap.

_So he did decide to show._

“Wait, you were talking about _that_ Lance?” Pidge asked. They hopped up on a barstool to look Keith in the eyes.

“Uh, yeah?” Keith was getting more confused by the second. “Do you know him, too?”

“Us three were the unholy trinity back in college!” Pidge gestured between Hunk and Lance.

“And you didn’t think I could _possibly_ be talking about _your_ Lance when I mentioned the florist?”

“I didn’t think you meant him!”

“How many Lances do you know?”

“...One?”

Lance silenced them by speaking into the microphone.

“Hey, everybody.” His voice was bright and smooth as it settled over the audience. “My name is Lance McClain—” _McClain._ Keith made a mental note of that. “—And I’ll be performing a set of three songs tonight. I’m gonna start with some Ron Pope.”

A few people “whooped” in the audience. Lance just chuckled, and let his fingers settle on the strings of his guitar.

And then he began to play. Down, down, up, down, down, up—the strums were rhythmic, and Keith got lost in the sound. The crowd was by no means quiet, but Keith couldn’t hear a single person except the boy on stage.

“ _A drop in the ocean, a change in the weather. I was praying that you and me might end up together.”_

Lance was far from the worst singer Keith had ever heard. In fact, he was good. _Really_ good. By the looks of it, everyone else seemed to think so, too.

“ _It’s like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert, but I’m holding you closer than most, ‘cause you are my heaven.”_

His voice was low. Lower than it was when he spoke, anyway, but it sounded natural coming from him. Effortless. Even though it caught and cracked in a few places, you hardly noticed because he covered it up so well.

“ _I don’t wanna waste the weekend. If you don’t love me, pretend; a few more hours, then it’s time to go.”_

Damn.

This would be a whole lot easier if he sounded like a dying cat.

***

Lance would be lying if he said he hadn’t been distracted on stage. He’d spotted Keith the _second_ he entered the building, and had to fight to keep his eyes off him every second since then. He hadn’t thought of bartender uniforms as being attractive until this very moment.

He was very aware of the fact that his current thought process was a dangerous one, and that he was bound to spiral.

But if spiraling meant seeing more of those toned forearms, then _shit,_ sign him the hell up.

The songs he chose were received well. He performed the first at most of the gigs he did, since it was easy to do on the fly. The second, _Cheap Thrills_ by Sia, was one he’d done once or twice in the past. It was fun. He’d never done the third before, though. Oddly enough, it got the best feedback. _Fresh Eyes_ by Andy Grammer. He made a mental note to add it to his set-book.

When he was done, he was met with uproarious applause. He took a bow, smiling, then headed offstage. He’d almost forgotten what a rush that was.

Keith hadn’t been lying—the tip jar he’d placed on the steps was overflowing, and there were a couple of dollars lying on the ground beside it. He picked it up, careful not to spill anything, and brought it over to the bar where Hunk was waiting with Shay. They must’ve met Keith already, and were chatting amicably with him.

Wait a minute… was that _Pidge_ behind them? And who was that other chick?

“Hey, man!” Hunk was the first to wrap him in a hug. “You did awesome!”

“Thanks,” Lance laughed. “I’m glad you guys came.”

Shay’s embrace was significantly tighter. “I’ve never heard you sing before! That was amazing.”

Lance managed to wheeze a thank you before having to tap her arm in a silent plea for release. She let him go, a sheepish smile on her lips.

Which left the troll behind them.

“Pidge?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Long-time no-see! What are you doing here?”

“I always show up for open-mic night.” They said. Their arms fit snugly beneath his when they hugged. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“I have to share my gift somehow,” He winked obnoxiously as he let them go. “You’ve been MIA for weeks. I demand an explanation.”

“I’ve been working on something.” They pointed to Keith, who watched them from behind the bar. “Edge-lord over here smashed his bike.”

“Oh?” Lance cocked an eyebrow, turning to face the Pidge-proclaimed “edge-lord”. “How’d that happen?”

Keith just shrugged. “Motorcycles are dangerous.”

Holy shit _—he drives a motorcycle._

“So,” Lance took a seat at the bar. “What’d you think?”

Keith folded his arms. He seemed to think for a moment. “It was…” A pause. “Good.”

“Good?” Pidge slid into the seat beside Lance before he could reply. “Real eloquent, Keith.”

Which raised another question.

“You know him?” Lance asked, pointing to Keith.

They both sighed as if they’d just been over this.

“Yep, since junior high.” Pidge waved him off. They gestured to the girl behind them. “Anyway, this is Romelle.”

Romelle smiled. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back into two wavy pigtails, which fell over the shoulders of her blue dress in waves. She was probably the most gorgeous girl he’d seen in a while.

For some reason, though, he didn’t feel like flirting—not with Keith right there.

_Get over yourself._

“Hi, I’m Lance.” He tried instead for a friendly, platonic approach, and extended a hand for her to shake.

She took it with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

 _Wait a minute._ Lance’s gaze flicked to Keith, then back to Romelle, and his spirits fell. _Are they…?_

No, he wasn’t looking at her like that. In fact, he wasn’t looking at her at all. His eyes were fixed on an invisible spot on the countertop he was trying to rub away with a washcloth.

As the rest of the group fell back into conversation, Lance leaned forward in his seat.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” He asked, the corner of his lips tugging upward into a smirk.

Keith just shrugged. “I didn’t think our friends knew each other. I feel a little weird about it.”

Lance nodded, understanding. He rested his chin on his hands and watched Keith work. The two of them were silent for a couple seconds, until the raven-haired boy noticed Lance staring.

“What?” He asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Lance shrugged. “You just bite your lip when you concentrate. It’s cute.”

Keith’s face turned red. “Oh.”

He was nervous, Lance could tell. Over the years, he’d gotten pretty good at reading people, and Keith was _really_ scrubbing that counter. Lance wasn’t sure why he was so antsy. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was him. Either way, he wasn’t about to let it slide.

“Have you ever gotten up there?” Lance asked, pointing to the stage. He figured starting up a conversation with Keith would be the best way to kill the awkward.

Keith shook his head. “Just to sweep it.”

“Do you sing?”

“In my room, alone.” He chuckled to himself. “Trust me, you do _not_ want to hear me try to carry a tune.”

“Aw, come on, buddy,” Lance fake-pouted. “You can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Oh, so we’re buddies now?”

“Well, you humiliated me in the workplace, came back a second time, and then invited me to karaoke night. I think that makes us friends.”

“…Fair point.”

Keith had looked up by then, and Lance smiled. He already seemed more comfortable.

“I’m sorry if it was weird, me inviting you here.” Keith admitted, a little sheepish. “I know we just met and all, but—”

“No, don’t apologize!” Lance interjected. “I made a ton of cash. Check this out.” He lifted the brimming tip jar with a triumphant grin on his face. “You just bought me lunch for the next week and a half.”

Keith laughed. It wasn’t a pretty laugh, but it was genuine, and Lance thought he wouldn’t mind hearing it again. And again. And again.

Lance turned so Keith wouldn’t see the blush on his cheeks. He watched Hunk and Shay instead, as they spoke with Pidge and Romelle. He had an arm over her shoulders, and she leaned into him sweetly.

“I take it Hunk and Shay are together?” Keith asked, drawing Lance’s attention back to him. Not that it ever left, really.

“Yeah. Three years and counting.” Lance lowered his voice. “Can you keep a secret?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yes?”

“Hunk’s gonna propose.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. He and I went ring shopping yesterday. We didn’t find anything, but he got some ideas.”

“Pidge mentioned that you all met in college. You and Hunk are close, then?”

Lance nodded. “Best friends. We moved in together right outta high school.”

Keith seemed to consider that. His thoughtful, dark eyes flitted over Lance’s face, taking everything in. They were nice eyes, he realized.

And he really needed a drink.

He ordered one and got to talking with Keith some more. As the alcohol began to work its way through his system, he got more accustomed to the conversation. He learned that Keith had been working here for two years, and that he didn’t have a whole lot of family in the area. He lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the east side of town. His favorite color was red, which seemed to fit.

“What about you?” Keith asked. “Have you lived here long?”

Lance smiled. “Born and raised. I have a pretty big family, and we were all pretty tight-knit up until a few years ago. Now it’s just me, my mom, Vic and her kids.”

“What happened?”

“People grow apart.” Lance shrugged. “It was only a matter of time, really.”

Just then, Hunk plopped down in the seat next to him. He was grinning stupidly as he held onto Shay’s hand.

“We’re gonna go dance,” He announced. “Wanna come?”

Lance’s face lit up. “I’m always down to bust a move.” He turned to Keith. “You should get in on this.”

Keith shook his head. Regrettably, it looked like. “Can’t, not while I’m on the job.”

“Damn.” Lance took a swig of his drink to chase the disappointment. “Well, I guess you’re just gonna have to watch and be jealous of these hips.”

Keith snorted. “Hardly.”

Lance gasped, pressing a dainty hand to his chest. “Do you doubt me?”

“No offense, Lance, but you’re flat as a board.”

“You’re about to witness just how very wrong you are.”

Lance ushered Hunk and Shay over to the dance floor with him. Pidge tossed Keith a sly look that Lance barely caught before catching up with them.

There were three performers up on stage, and the song they played was an upbeat tune that Lance didn’t recognize. Still, it wasn’t bad, and certainly one he could dance to.

In addition to singing, dancing had always been a huge part of his life. He grew up watching _Dancing With the Stars_ with his mom. He got so into it that she decided to sign him up for lessons. With that came a theatre phase that lasted well into high school, and a bit of vocal training too.

Plus, this was the perfect opportunity to show off for Keith.

Lance grabbed Pidge by the arms and swung them onto the dance floor. They laughed, trying to push him away, but the taller person wouldn’t budge.

“C’mon, Pidge,” Lance whined. “Just one dance?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow. They looked down their glasses like they did whenever Lance said something stupid, as if to say, “ _really?”_

“Why, so you can show off for Al Kee-hol over there?”

“What? No!” Lance hated how unconvincing he sounded. “Look, I haven’t seen you in forever. Humor me?”

Pidge just rolled their eyes. He never had been able to fool them.

“Alright, whatever.”

Lance smiled and grabbed their hands, leading them around in a kiddish circle. He saw Hunk and Shay dancing together a few feet away in the crowd, right next to Romelle. Keith had mentioned that people didn’t dance on any other night but open-mic night, and he could see why. The bar wasn’t exactly built for it; there was just a section cleared of tables that was about twenty by twenty. Still, people seemed to be having fun. That, or they were buzzed enough to feel like they were.

As Lance twirled Pidge to the beat, he stole another glance back to see if Keith was watching. He wasn’t. He was chatting up two customers at the bar.

_Looks like I’m gonna have to get his attention._

Lance picked up the pace. Pidge floundered a bit at first, but caught up easily enough. The two of them settled into a sort of swing routine. It was nothing fancy, but definitely something to turn a few heads. They laughed and spun. At one point, Lance even flipped Pidge over his back.

He hadn’t had this kind of fun in weeks.

At one point, Lance’s gaze wandered back to the bar. The customers that were talking to Keith earlier had disappeared, leaving only a handful of occupied seats at the far right of the counter.

And Keith?

He had his eyes trained on Lance, a tiny smile gracing his pale lips.

_Mission accomplished._

***

Bars without people are kind of eerie, to say the least. Keith realized this his first week on the job. The way the sound disappeared with the people, the way they left glasses on the counters and tables. It made the place feel abandoned. He hated closing because of it. He always felt watched, or like he was about to become the first victim in a horror movie.

Luckily, Pidge was his ride tonight. They stuck around while he cleaned up. They sat on the counter, swinging their legs back and forth. Keith could see the dim reflection of stage lights in their glasses.

“So,” They looked over to where he was arranging some bottles. “How’s Shiro?”

Keith frowned. Conversation between them always seemed to degenerate back to this.

“The same,” He replied. “Allura says he’s healing up, though.”

“I haven’t been to see him in a while. Adam’s been going without me.”

The name sent a pang through Keith’s chest. _Adam…_ Shiro’s fiancé. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the accident, and even then it hadn’t been pleasant.

“Is he…” Keith chose his next words carefully. “Still angry?”

“If he hasn’t reached out, I’d say he is.” Pidge sighed, sympathetic. “You just gotta give him some time. He’s dealing in his own way.”

“Three weeks is more than ‘some time’.” Keith sighed, eager for a change of subject. “Anyway, how’s the bike coming?”

“Slow,” Pidge shrugged. “But not bad. I’ve had to keep it on the side, though, since we’ve had a lot of people coming into the shop lately.”

“Am I not that important to you?” Keith fake pouted.

“I am giving you a wicked discount, jackass. Keep complaining and I’ll ‘accidentally’ slash a hole in your tire.”

“Ha. Okay.”

Keith turned to put a glass back on the shelf.

“So, are we gonna talk about the fact that my Lance is your Lance?”

He nearly dropped it.

“Uh, no.” He said, not looking at Pidge. “We’re not, actually.”

“Why?” Keith knew that tone. “You got a _crush?_ ”

“Wha—no! I just met him.”

“Romeo and Juliet met, fell in love, and got married in the span of two days.”

“They literally both died, Pidge.”

“Irrelevant,” Pidge waved their had dismissively. “Point is, I think you guys are cute.”

“Yeah. We’re also complete strangers.”

“You’ve already met his sister. Shiro didn’t introduce you to Adam for weeks.”

“Drop it, shrimp.”

Pidge just stuck their tongue out at him.

Keith made his way over to their side of the bar and started sweeping around barstools. _People are gross,_ he realized, picking up a handful of discarded napkins. He set them on the counter so he could throw them away later.

But his eyes landed on another napkin. It rested on one of the stools a few feet away. Keith was honestly surprised he missed it. He set the broom against the counter and made his way over to pick it up, but something stopped him.

Written on the back, in blue ink, was a phone number.

Keith saw that shit all the time. Usually, he would’ve trashed it without a second thought. The name on it, however, changed the game.

_503-233-8768_

_Call me ;)_

_-Lance_

He stuffed the napkin in his pocket before Pidge could see it. Unfortunately, they had goddamn _raptor vision_ and whipped their head around so fast Keith thought their neck might break.

“What’s that?” They asked, scary curiosity tainting their voice.

“Uh, nothing?”

“What did you just put in your pocket?”

“Jesus, Pidge, calm down. It’s just a napkin.”

“Why are you stealing a napkin?”

“It’s not stealing, it’s—hey!”

Before he could react, Pidge’s hand darted into his jacket pocket and pulled out the napkin. They hopped back up on the counter to read it.

“’Call me, _winky face,_ Lance’?” Their grin turned pure evil. “Woah, there, Keithy boy. Looks like you’ve got yourself a wild one.”

“Pidge!” Keith made a grab for the note. “Give me that!”

“What are you, twelve?” Pidge crumpled it up and tossed it to him. “Dude, he gave you his number!”

“You don’t know it was for me!”

“Who else would it be for?”

“I don’t know, Romelle?”

“Does it matter? She’s not into guys. Besides, he wasn’t looking at _her_ with goo-goo eyes the entire time.”

Keith groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was way too tired for this.

“Leave me _alone._ ” He tried to straighten the napkin out as best he could before putting it in his pocket again. “Why don’t you wait outside?”

Pidge shook their head. “Can’t leave you in here to get _murdered._ ”

“I think I’ll take that over your slander.”

“Get over it, Kogane.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Sometimes, he really hated their friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just keyboard-smashed to get Lance's number. Please don't try to call it.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for the positive feedback! I spent a few hours the other day outlining the rest of the story (vaguely) and I really like what I have so far. I think I’m gonna try to post on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so we’ll see how that goes.
> 
> Also, Romelle and Pidge, The Meme Team? I'm not sure where that came from.
> 
> ~DontTouchMySpaceBuns


	4. 21 Days PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bunch of unnecessary armadillo facts.

Lance woke to an empty apartment. His alarm blared from the bedside table, wailing and insistent. He reached a groggy hand over to turn it off.

_Hangovers blow._

He didn’t drink all that much last night—just enough to calm his nerves—but something he’d come to learn is that he was more than a little susceptible to splitting headaches after a night out. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he certainly didn’t expect it to be the last.

Last night, though? Totally worth it. He hadn’t done a gig like that in months, and having close friends there to support him made it that much better.

Before Lance could will himself out of bed, a ding sounded to his left. He turned his throbbing head just enough to see the dim light of his phone on the nightstand.

 _Who the hell is texting me at this hour?_ Lance thought muddily. Then he realized that “this hour” was noon, and that he should have been up hours ago.

After swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed his phone and tapped the “new message” notification. It took a few moments for his tired eyes to process what was on the screen, but, when they did, his brow creased in confusion.

 ** _Unknown:_** Hey this is Keith

“How the…” Lance’s voice trailed off, and his eyes went wide. He’d completely forgotten about leaving his number on that napkin. If he was being completely honest, he didn’t think it’d find its way around to Keith at all, but it certainly wasn’t an unwelcome turn of events.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** whats crackalackin mullet man?

On second thought, that might not have been the most debonair way to enter the conversation, but “Lance will be Lance”, as Pidge used to say.

He changed “unknown” to something he’d be able to recognize.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** that is the worst thing I’ve ever had to read

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** your welcome

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** *you’re

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** what are you up to

Lance stood before answering. He smiled down at his phone as he crossed the hall to get to the bathroom, typing a response as he went.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** just woke up, u?

He shut the door and started running the shower.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** drawing

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** you draw?

Lance couldn’t deny his surprise as he stepped underneath the spray of water. He heard his phone buzz from where it rested on the kitchen sink, but he forced himself not to answer it.

_He draws._

After the quickest wash and shave of his life, Lance bolted out of the shower to answer Keith’s text.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** yeah

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** cool

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** I guess that makes you kind of a *sketchy* guy then, huh?

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** I regret picking up that napkin

Lance just chuckled. He towel-dried his hair and wrapped a towel around his waist before heading to his room to get dressed.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** aw come on, that was a good one

He set his phone down as he slipped some pants on. He chose a dark-gray button down from his closet and paired it with his favorite converse. They were red and scuffed to hell, but they’d been with him for years. His mom and Vic called them his “lucky shoes”.

Well, he was talking to Keith right now, wasn’t he? That’s luck for you.

Lance grabbed his laptop from where it sat on the desk and brought it into the living room with him. His phone dinged with another text.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** how’s Hunk?

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** he stayed at Shay’s last night, so I have the apartment to myself rn. I’ll tell him u said hi tho

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** ok thanks

Lance hesitated before sending his next text. Would it be too weird?

Eh, screw it.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** can u show me what ur drawing?

Keith took a moment to respond.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** uh sure

A few seconds later, a picture came through. It was the page of a sketchbook, with someone’s face in the center. The style it was drawn in was cartoonish, but Lance could tell each line was sketched with care. Some had been erased and redrawn more than a couple times, he noticed. As for the character, Lance didn’t recognize them, but Keith had illustrated them with a bright smile and excited brown eyes.

It was… good. Unfinished, but _really_ good.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** hey not bad!

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** u should draw me sometime ;)

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** you just made every artist in a ten-mile radius want to kill you

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** is that a no?

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** probably

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** rude

Lance set his phone down and went about making some breakfast in the kitchen. With Hunk gone, his options were limited to things he could microwave. He sifted through the contents of their fridge before finding a couple of leftover burritos and reheating them.

As he waited for the microwave to finish, he stared down at his own hands. The most creative thing he’d managed to do with them was build an Ikea desk. He wondered what it would be like to have Keith’s brand of talent. Lance’s own art skills were tragic, really, but he supposed he made up for it by being an obnoxious, theatrical jackass.

He took his burritos back to the couch. Two new message notifications appeared on the screen of his phone.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** sorry, artists just kind of hate that question

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** did you have fun last night?

Lance almost snorted. Fun… he had a goddamn _blast._

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** oh yeah, u?

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** I mean, I was working. Other than that yeah

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** I thought u liked working there

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** I do, just less so when its packed

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** oh yeah I get it

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** I take it u and Hunk got off on the right foot?

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** I think so, he seems nice. It’s cool that he came to support you and stuff

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** yeah he’s awesome

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** I’m a little jealous of Shay tbh, she gets his cooking

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** you could always duel her for him

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** she’d snap my neck in a heartbeat

She wouldn’t—she was way too nice for that—but Lance knew she very well could considering how often she worked out. He might’ve been a little jealous of Hunk, too. He admired women who had the muscle to crush a grown man’s skull.

Lance opened up his laptop while he waited for Keith to reply. He must’ve forgotten to log off yesterday, because several tabs were still open. He clicked on his browser.

Oh. _This._

He was immediately met with a local apartment listing. It wasn’t for anything fancy—just a small, one-bedroom on the other side of town. Still, just looking at it made Lance’s heart hurt. He knew Hunk’s wedding wouldn’t be for months, but he felt like he was so close to losing him anyway. He wouldn’t be able to afford staying here on his own, though, so finding a new place seemed like his only option. He figured he should be familiar with the market when the time came.

He clicked the tab shut just as his phone dinged again.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** I mean, yeah

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** do you think you’ll do another open mic night?

Lance didn’t even have to think about his response.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** uh, duh. I got hella cash

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** the crowd loved you

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** everyone loves me ;)

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** are you always like this

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** unfortunately

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** it’s a blessing and a curse

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** *just a curse

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** why must you treat me in this way

But he was smiling. Somehow, talking to Keith had made him forget his misgivings about the apartment.

As he ate his breakfast and texted Keith a little longer, he realized another detail.

His headache was gone.

***

“Pidge.”

“What?”

“He’s horrible.”

Pidge poked her head up from behind the bike, a dot of grease on their nose. Unimpressed, they raised an eyebrow.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to realize,” They shrugged. “Lance is a moron.”

“Yeah.” But Keith had the dumbest grin on his face.

Pidge gagged. “You’re gross.”

“So are you, grease-monkey.”

“Har-dee-har. Go back to your doodling.”

Keith was sitting in the shop as Pidge worked on his motorcycle. He had his sketchbook on his lap, working on an original character. The best thing about their friendship, he realized, was the fact that they could go on like this for hours. They didn’t have to talk; just had to be in each other’s company.

Lance said goodbye to Keith a few minutes ago, since he had to head into work last minute. They texted for nearly an hour straight, and Keith quickly came to learn that the boy had more lame puns than a suburban soccer-dad. Still, their conversation was the highlight of Keith’s day, and that scared him. He did _not_ have a crush on a stranger.

Except that he did, and it sucked.

“You should ask him out,” Pidge said absent-mindedly, tightening something with their wrench.

Keith shook his head. “I don’t even know if he’s into guys.”

Pidge snorted. “He’s into _everyone._ Seriously, you got a pulse, you’re in.”

“Huh,” Keith had to pretend like that didn’t excite him. “Okay.”

His phone dinged. With a little flutter, he reached for it, expecting it to be Lance, but his spirits fell when he saw who it really was.

 ** _Unknown:_** Keith, this is Allura. Coran gave me your number in case of an emergency, since I’ll be able to get news to you faster than the hospital if anything happens. Is that alright?

Keith stared down at the text. The self-loathing began creeping in, and he set the phone down. What was he doing, thinking about Lance? Shiro was in the hospital.

He sighed. No matter how many times his friends told him it was okay, he’d always feel guilty for it.

He’d respond to Allura later.

“What else do you have to do?” Keith asked, aching for a distraction.

Pidge didn’t look back at him. “A lot. You know, it’d be so much cheaper if you just bought a new one.”

“I’m not ditching Red.”

“You… named your bike?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Quit judging me.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“You so are.”

“I’m _silently_ judging you. There’s a difference.”

“Why do I bother?”

Keith returned to his sketching. The nose didn’t look right, and it was driving him crazy. Drawing was something he picked up when he was young to help calm his nerves. By the time he got to high school, he never went anywhere without a sketchbook. He had shelves of them in his apartment. Since then, he’d stopped drawing as often, but he still pulled out some paper on occasion. He doodled on napkins at the bar, too.

Recently, he’d been doing it a lot. Allura suggested it after he mentioned his sketchbook collection, and he’d taken her advice for once. It proved to be a welcome distraction.

Pidge sighed, straightening up to stare down at Keith’s bike. They whistled lowly.

“Jesus, dude. Look where you’re going next time.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but it stung.

“Do you think you could give me a ride back?” Keith asked.

“Yeah, let me put some stuff away first.”

Pidge went about gathering their tools and putting them in their respective places. Keith dragged his pencil across the page, connecting it to others in a wide arc. The nose was still pissing him off. His style had been all over the place lately, and he was having a hard time finding aspects that fit together without looking weird.

_Wait—ah, there it is._

If he sloped it just right, the bridge of the nose fit perfectly with the rest of the face. Keith looked at it from every angle before deciding he was pleased with it and continued his shading.

Pidge finished putting their tools away a few minutes later and came over to see what Keith was doing. They popped their head up and over his shoulder with a curious expression.

“Why are you drawing Lance?”

Keith sputtered.

“What?” He turned to face Pidge, confused. “I-I’m not, I’m—”

A glance back to the drawing told him he was at least a little bit wrong. The eyes were a little dark to be Lance’s, but the rest was… a little too similar. The cheekbones, the smile, even the hair.

Had he been… drawing Lance subconsciously?

Keith snapped the sketchbook shut, glaring at his friend. Pidge only watched him with a knowing smirk as they flicked him on the nose.

“’Not a crush’ my _ass._ ”

Keith shot to his feet and began walking stiffly towards the door. “I’ll see you in the car.”

He found himself in the parking lot a few seconds later. He stood on the sidewalk while he waited for Pidge, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t just done that. He ran a hand back through his hair and opened the sketchbook again.

So he _had_ just done that.

The nose had looked so wrong before, and Keith couldn’t figure out why—but now he knew. It looked wrong because it wasn’t _Lance’s._

If that wasn’t bad enough, the fact that Pidge had seen it would drive him up a wall for the next week and a half.

When Pidge came out of the shop, Keith was already familiar with the expression on their face. Why did they insist on making his life miserable?

“Get in, lover-boy.” They snickered, unlocking the truck. “You can draw on the way home. I’ll avoid the potholes.”

“Shut _up.”_

The two of them hopped into the front seats. Keith avoided Pidge’s gaze, though he knew it was on him.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Pidge’s voice filled the silence.

“For the record, I really do think he’d be good for you.” They said, but not in the tone that Keith was expecting. Their voice was almost… sincere. “I think you’d be good for him, too.”

And Keith wished he hadn’t heard that, because it woke the butterflies in his stomach—butterflies that lay dormant until just a few weeks ago.

***

_“Shy and timid, armadillos are not poisonous, nor do they have a killer bite—what they can do, though, is make you very, very sick.”_

“Dude, what are you watching?”

Lance fumbled for the remote in a panic, trying to get to it before Hunk set foot inside, but it was too late. His friend was already laughing.

“Are you watching nature documentaries again?” Hunk mused.

“What? No!” Lance snorted. “This is just a…” He quickly came to realize that there really wasn’t any way he could brush this off. He sighed, resigned. “Yeah, I’m watching nature documentaries again.”

Hunk smiled. He set his bag down at sat next to Lance on the couch.

“What’s this one?” He asked.

Lance had been watching so long he’d forgotten. He pressed a button on the remote to see the title.

“72 Dangerous Animals Latin America,” He replied. “They’re talking about armadillos right now.”

“Armadillos are dangerous?”

“Some carry diseases, so yeah.”

“Huh. Neat.”

The two sat in silence, watching for a few minutes. The narrator went on about the history of leprosy and how it connected to armadillos and that only the three-ringed armadillo could actually curl up in a ball. Hunk seemed to be interested enough. At the very least, he was acting it for Lance’s sake.

That was part of the reason why they were such good friends. They were always supportive of each other, even if the outcome of the situation didn’t matter in the long run (such as this one). It was the little things.

When the episode ended fifteen minutes later, Lance turned off the TV and faced his roommate.

“Sooo,” His voice took on a teasing air. “How was your _sleepover?”_

Hunk’s face went red.

“Dude, it’s not like that.” Lance could tell from the look on his face that it was _totally_ like that. “And… it was fun.”

“Did you get any proposal ideas?”

“Well… I figured out that she’s not as allergic to flowers as we thought.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. She just can’t get right up and sniff ‘em.” He sighed. “What kind of a boyfriend am I? I’ve been dating her for three years and I can’t even remember to ask stuff like this.”

Lance could practically smell the doubt, sour on Hunk’s tongue. Unacceptable.

“What was she wearing on your first date?” He asked.

Hunk responded with little more than a moment’s hesitation. “A white t-shirt and a red skirt.” He frowned. “Why?”

“What’s her least favorite food?”

“Hot dogs, but I don’t see how—”

“Her favorite movie?”

“…A Dog’s Purpose.”

“What is her father’s middle name?”

“Greg. Lance, what—”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Lance put a hand on his shoulder, using the other to jab at Hunk’s chest. “You know a million tiny things about her that only the love of her life could know. You’re so observant already, and the fact that you know that she’s allergic to flowers at _all_ is further than I’ve ever gotten with anyone. So what if you didn’t know just _how_ allergic she was? You do now. Don’t go messing yourself up over this.”

Hunk blinked in astonishment. His startled expression morphed into a soft smile after a second.

“I said one thing,” He mused. “One thing, and off you went showering me with all the love and support I’ll ever need. How’d I find a bro like you?”

“If I remember correctly, you ran into me on campus and made me drop all my papers.” Lance let his hand drop. “Twist of fate.”

“Well, thanks.” Hunk’s smile turned earnest. “You’re awesome.”

“Anytime, bud.”

Lance’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He picked it up, only to find yet another message notification from Keith. He couldn’t keep the goofy grin from spreading across his face.

“What did you do all day?” Hunk asked.

Lance puffed out his chest, triumphant, as he showed Hunk his and Keith’s conversation from earlier. Hunk laughed as he scrolled through the texts, shaking his head good-naturedly.

“You’re in deep, bro.” He handed the phone back to Lance. “You didn’t tell me you left him your number.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “I was _gonna,_ but then you went and ditched me for your future wife!”

“Yeah, maybe that’s because she’s, I dunno, _my future wife.”_

“Don’t talk to me. I’ve just realized I’m angry with you.”

“Aw, come on. If I make you dinner will you forgive me?”

Lance pretended to think for a moment. “…I’ll consider it.”

Hunk’s smile returned as he got to his feet and headed for the kitchen. Lance followed him, arms folded. He hopped up on the counter as his roommate got cooking.

He liked watching Hunk work. He got so focused on whatever he was making, especially when he didn’t use a recipe, and he hummed when he stirred. Lance realized this pretty early on in their friendship. He liked to study people, regardless of his relationship with them, and he discovered that people in their natural element were _fascinating._ Hunk was in his when he cooked, Pidge was in theirs when they worked, and Vic was in hers when she was with her family or at the shop. Lance didn’t quite know what his own element was; he was still figuring that out.

It made him wonder what Keith was like in his.

“So, you really like him, huh?”

The question took Lance off guard. Hunk hadn’t even looked over from the cupboard when he asked. For some reason, though, Lance didn’t feel like denying anything.

“I mean, I think so.” He shrugged. “I just want to get to know him better.”

“You know, I was talking to Shay and she thought we all should get together and have one of those picnics we used to have in college. We were thinking of inviting Pidge—don’t give me that look, of course we were gonna invite you—and, if you want, you could ask Keith if he and Romelle want to tag along.”

Lance remembered those picnics. A few years ago, he, Pidge and Hunk would all get together and have weekend picnic study-sessions in the park. They’d go late so no kids would be around, and just laugh and work and have a good time. Then Lance dropped out, and they didn’t see each other as much, but it was fun while it lasted.

“Yeah, that sounds awesome.” He smiled. “Tell Shay she’s a genius.”

“I do, every day.”

Hunk went about making Lance’s favorite, fettuccine alfredo. As he started heating up the pot, Lance swung his legs back and forth under the countertop.

“Do you think he’ll say yes?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. “I mean, we just barely reached ‘acquaintance’ status. I can’t just start asking him to hang out with me.”

“Pidge will be there,” Hunk replied. “It’s not weird if it’s in a group setting. Worst case scenario, he says no, and you move on.”

“No, worst case scenario he says, ‘no way in hell, you absolute weirdo’, blocks my number, and never talks to me again.”

Hunk turned to look back at him then, unamused. “Dude, you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“That’s my job.”

“Just ask. I _dare_ you.”

Lance wanted to come up with a million other reasons why he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t seem to think of any. He gave his roommate a pleading look, but Hunk wouldn’t budge. Finally, he sighed, and left to grab his phone from the other room.

“If this comes back to bite me in the ass, it’s your fault.” He grumbled, and sat back down on the counter.

“Hey, don’t drag me into this. I’m an innocent bystander.”

Lance stared down at the screen. _Just do it,_ he told himself. _It’s not that hard._

But it was. Suddenly, the tiny buttons on the keyboard seemed daunting, and the mere prospect of typing out a response felt impossible.

What was he doing? He was a disaster. A lanky, neurotic, human disaster. People got bored of him so fast even he couldn’t keep track of them. Who was he to think Keith would give him so much as a second glance?

“He already did.”

It took Lance a moment to realize he’d said that last part aloud. Hunk was facing him completely now, wearing a sympathetic expression.

“He seems like a nice guy, Lance.” Hunk came over to stand by his friend. “I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. Or yourself, for that matter. You’re a cooler guy than you realize.”

Lance nodded slowly, forcing a smile. He didn’t believe those last few words for a second, but at least Hunk was trying.

“Thanks, buddy.” He said.

“No problem. Now text him.”

Hunk went back to his cooking, leaving Lance to stare at the keyboard yet again.

_Now or never._

His fingers moved almost robotically across the screen as he typed out a painstaking response. It shouldn’t have been as difficult as it was, but he pushed through it anyway.

After an entire minute of revision, he pressed send.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** Pidge, hunk, shay and I are all going to the park tmrrw for a picnic. Wanna come?

Shit. He forgot.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** Romelle can come too if she wants

Three little dots appeared at the bottom of the screen almost too fast. Lance’s teeth clenched in anticipation as he waited.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** yeah that sounds fun. Which park?

Relief flushed through him like a breath of fresh air.

Honestly, what was he so worried about?

Lance looked up at Hunk and flashed a huge grin. His friend returned it with a thumbs up.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Lance begged to differ, but he wasn’t about to tell him that. He typed out a response to Keith’s question.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** the one on millard lane, 6pm

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** see u then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith ends up drawing Lance anyway.
> 
> Y’all!!! You’re amazing!!! The feedback has been fantastic, and it means a lot <3
> 
> Anyway, I know it’s completely unrealistic that Keith would have the same contact name on two of his friends’ phones, but I'm going to keep it universal to avoid confusion, as well as everyone else's.
> 
> Also, I’m going to be indisposed for the rest of the week, so I will be missing Saturday’s update. I’m sorry! I know this chapter wasn’t super interesting, either, but please bear with me until next Wednesday. There’ll be more of our boys in chapter 5 to make up for it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Lance watching nature documentaries is my jam.
> 
> ~DontTouchMySpaceBuns


	5. 23 Days PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance saves Hunk from making the biggest mistake of his life.

Keith never was one for cars. He always thought they were too confining—too restricting. That’s why he liked motorcycles so much. He lived for the thrill of going so fast he could feel the wind in his eyelashes.

Now, though, the posh interior of Romelle’s BMW made him even more claustrophobic than usual. He shrunk back against the leather seats, wishing they’d swallow him whole.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Romelle tried for a reassuring tone, but Keith wasn’t sure it helped so much as made things worse.

“I know.” He replied quietly.

And he did know, but he worried anyway. He was going to a park with a bunch of borderline strangers and his head wouldn’t get with the program. Worst-case scenarios kept running through his mind in a sickening montage, causing his fists to clench against his thighs. Why couldn’t he just let himself have fun for once?

Shiro would know what to do. He’d clap him on the back with that wide, annoying, big-brother smile of his and tell Keith that he had his—he just had to let himself have it. Keith would tell him that was easier said than done, and Shiro would spend the next ten minutes talking his anxiety down.

But he wasn’t here, so Keith was left to do it on his own.

It was torture.

Much like cars, Keith had somewhat of an aversion to meeting people. It didn’t help that there’d be a lot of them, and he’d likely be overwhelmed by the conversation.

Or that his crush would be there.

But he’d been through worse, a _lot_ worse—and he took a moment to remind himself of that. Compared to what happened a few weeks ago, this would be a piece of cake.

Keith hated cake.

“Shay seems nice,” Romelle piped up, eyes on the road. “She and I talked on Friday. As it turns out, we grew up in neighboring towns.”

Keith feigned interest. “Oh? That’s cool.”

Romelle shot him a look, unamused. She saw right through him. “Keith, I’m trying here. You look like you’re about to vomit.”

“I’m just nervous,” Keith admitted. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t do well with groups.”

“You did just fine a few days ago.”

“Yeah, I was working. It was different.”

“Treat it like you’re working, then. This is just another job.”

“How? I’m not exactly serving them alcohol.”

Romelle sighed. “Keith, I know you’re worried, but I promise everything will turn out just fine. If you get uncomfortable, find Pidge or myself. We’re here for you.”

Keith nodded, still unsure. He fixed his gaze on a point somewhere beyond the window and watched as the city raced by.

 Regardless, Romelle couldn’t seem to take a hint.

“So,” She cleared her throat. “Lance seems nice.”

Keith sighed. “Yeah, he is.”

“Are you excited to see him again?”

“I guess.”

“Nervous?”

“Romy,” Keith turned to face her. “I really appreciate you trying to help, but I need some quiet.”

Romelle blinked in surprise. She pursed her lips, nodding stiffly, and Keith realized immediately that he could have said that better.

“Okay.” She huffed.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Silence filled the car then, and it was more stifling than ever. Keith hadn’t meant to come across like that, but he always managed to say the wrong thing. There was no polite way to tell someone to shut up, especially if you couldn’t explain why.

While Keith had known Pidge since he was young, Romelle was a newer friend of theirs. She’d come into the bar one night while Pidge and Keith were there. She and pidge had gotten into a pretty animated discussion about robotics or something, and the rest was history. They just clicked—unlike Romelle and Keith, which explained the disconnect.

Despite this, she was one of the closest friends he had. Having her upset with him made him antsy.

The park rolled into view a few minutes later. A metal playground sat in the middle of a huge, grassy area, with gazebos and trees scattered about the lawn. A handful of children and their parents hovered around the jungle-gym, but it looked like they were about to leave before the sun went down.

As Romelle pulled into the parking lot, Keith spotted them. Four figures sat at one of the gazebos furthest from the playground. As he got closer, he saw that they were laughing and talking over a few boxes of pizza. One of the taller ones—Lance, Keith realized—looked up when he heard the car pull in.

Keith’s heart rate picked up when his phone dinged.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** I see u

The car pulled to a complete stop. Everyone at the table had spotted them by that point, and they waved enthusiastically for them to join. Hunk’s grin was the widest.

Suddenly, Keith felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re going to be okay,” Romelle smiled warmly, and a bit of Keith’s anxiety ebbed.

“I know. Thanks.” He frowned. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just… I get overwhelmed kind of easy. People talking or asking questions makes it worse.”

Romelle’s eyes widened. “Oh. I guess I should be the one apologizing, then.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Keith opened the door before he could second guess himself. The second his shoes hit asphalt, a chorus of voices washed over him.

“Keith!”

“Hey, man!”

“You made it!”

“ _Breathe, Keith.”_

It took him a moment to realize that the last voice had been his own. Shiro’s advice was the driving force that allowed him to smile and look up from his shoes.

“Hey, guys.” He offered a small wave. “Sorry we’re late.”

“No worries.” Lance was the first to jog over in his direction. “We were just getting started. Come on.”

He slung an arm over Keith’s shoulders and steered him over towards the gazebo. The shorter boy was acutely aware of the warmness of Lance’s skin against his own, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on something, _anything_ else.

_That’s it. Breathe._

***

Keith and his leather jacket were _way_ too cute to be legal, Lance was sure, but he couldn’t do a thing about it as he sat and talked with his friends. His eyes kept slipping to Keith, no matter how hard he tried to stop it. He just couldn’t believe he was here. Eating. With him. It made his heart do funny things.

Watching Pidge try to stuff their mouth with as much pizza as possible was a nice distraction. They turned to face Lance, a pepperoni smile on their face. It was a little cute, but mostly gross. Shay laughed boisterously beside them, with an arm tossed over Hunk’s shoulders. Romelle seemed to be having a good time, too.

It sent a shock of warmth through Lance’s chest that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding out for. This was his second family.

And then there was Keith. He was timid, but appeared to be adjusting well enough. He’d laugh along with everyone, and even managed to crack a few of his own jokes. Still, Lance could tell he wasn’t too good with people. They made him anxious. In an attempt to help, he tried to include him in the conversation as much as possible.

“I don’t know, man.” Hunk shrugged. “I think I’d try to make it through without hurting anyone.”

“But it’s The _Hunger Games,”_ Lance rolled his eyes. “You can’t just ‘not hurt anyone’. Not if you want to live, anyway.”

Hunk frowned, folding his arms. “Fine. Who would you take out first?”

“Pidge, definitely. They scare the shit outta me.”

Pidge grinned devilishly, settling both hands behind their head in a relaxed position. “I don’t blame you. Have you see me play Call of Duty?”

“Unfortunately.” Lance turned to Keith. “What about you? Who’d you get rid of?”

Keith thought for a moment, poking at his paper plate. He’d long since finished his pizza.

“Uh,” He began finally. “I mean, I feel kind of weird about the question in general, but I think I’d have to go with Pidge, too.”

Pidge sat up, alarmed. “What? Dude!”

“Sorry. I agree with Lance; you’re scary.”

“Is there anyone here who _wouldn’t_ kill me first?”

Not a single person raised their hand.

Pidge sat back in their seat, frowning. “Y’know, I was flattered at first, but now I’m just disappointed in you all.”

Shay winced apologetically. “Sorry, Pidge—it’s just smarter to eliminate the big threats first.”

“I’m not even five feet tall.”

“You know what I mean.”

Oddly enough, this subject got brought up a lot: what would end up happening if they all got thrown in The Hunger Games. Zombie apocalypse scenarios were a popular topic, too. Lance didn’t think he’d survive either (not that he’d ever been told otherwise). Pidge, on the other hand, was smart enough to have a real shot.

Lance was grateful they’d never have to find out.

“Hey, maybe Shay would save your ass,” He whispered, leaning into Hunk at his side with a sly grin.

Hunk chuckled. “Yeah. Like you’d live long enough to see that.”

Lance drew back, alarm painted on his face. “Hunk! I thought you believed in me!”

“Sorry, man. You’re a twig. Someone would come along and snap you in half.”

“Wow. What did I do to deserve you?”

Just then, Lance noticed something small and black poking out of his roommate’s jacket pocket. He stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out what it was, until it finally clicked.

_Oh no._

“Dude!” He pulled Hunk in close, keeping an eye on the box as he lowered his voice. “Is that what I think it is?”

Hunk’s big, blessed face turned red. “Uh… depends on what you think it is.”

“Is that the _ring?”_

“…yes?”

“Come with me.” Lance stood, pulling his friend up with him. The rest of the gang paused their conversation long enough to give them a sideways glance. “We’ll be right back.”

He led Hunk over to a secluded spot by the playground. The children had left about half-an-hour ago, which meant the two of them had the area to themselves.

Once they were out of earshot, Lance whirled on Hunk with intense eyes.

“Are you gonna propose _today?”_

Hunk blinked in surprise. “What? No.”

“Then why is _that_ in your pocket?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” Hunk’s voice was sheepish. “I guess I just feel better having  it on me. That way, if I want to spontaneously propose—”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“I said don’t.” Lance folded his arms. “You can’t just pop the question on a _whim._ It works for some people, but it won’t for you two, trust me. Shay deserves something sappy and over the top. ‘Spontaneity’ won’t cut it.”

Hunk seemed to think about that for a moment. He sighed, reaching a hand back to tighten his headband.

“Yeah, you’re right.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m just nervous.”

Lance smiled softly and placed a hand on his arm. “You shouldn’t be. Shay loves you, and she’s gonna say yes anyway. That’s what really matters, right?”

“…right.”

“Now give me the ring.”

Hunk visibly sputtered. A hand flew to the box in his pocket.

“Why would I do that?” He exclaimed, the slightest bit defensive.

Lance rolled his eyes. “No offense, buddy, but I don’t trust you with it. You’re gonna end up doing exactly what I told you not to. Through no fault of your own, of course—the pull of the proposal can be hard to resist—but still. That, or you might lose it.”

When Hunk still didn’t relent, Lance sighed.

“When have I ever let you down?” He asked.

Hunk’s eyebrow shot up so far Lance thought it might disappear into his hair. “Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?”

“Aw, come on, just trust me. I’ll keep it safe until you come up with a game plan.”

Hunk radiated hesitance. A hand hovered over his pocket, and Lance could tell he wanted to say no, but then his gaze slipped to Shay back at the gazebo. His eyes softened.

“Okay,” He said finally. “But if you lose it, you _will_ pay me back.”

“Alright, sounds good—”

“Every. Cent.”

Lance sometimes forgot how intimidating Hunk could be. He rolled his eyes to hide his discomfort.

“Yeah, yeah. What, you gonna make me pinky promise?” He held out his little finger mockingly, but Hunk actually took it.

“My future marriage is in your hands.” Hunk’s eyes narrowed. “I’m trusting you.”

“Hunk, I get it. I’ll be careful.”

“You better be.”

He pressed the small, black box into the palm of Lance’s outstretched hand. It was warm from where it’d been pressed up against his torso.

Lance wasn’t sure why he was subjecting himself to this; he wasn’t a very responsible adult. Still, he wanted this proposal to be good for his friends, and it was going to happen. That, or he’d go broke trying.

The two of them decided to head back to the table before people started asking questions. Lance sat back down beside Keith, but Pidge was too engrossed in their conversation with Shay and Romelle to notice their return.

“What was that all about?” Keith whispered.

Lance waved him off. “Nothing, just had to talk to Hunk about some...” He lowered his voice. “ _Proposal stuff.”_

Realization dawned on Keith’s face, and he nodded. “Oh. What about it?”

Lance chuckled to himself. He pulled the ring box out of his pocket just enough for Keith to catch a glimpse.

“He had this on him, can you believe that?” He shook his head and hid it again. “I offered to keep it for him.”

“Why?”

“I’m not gonna let him propose without thinking it through.”

Keith eyed him thoughtfully. He nodded, dark hair rustling.

“You’re a good friend.” He said after a moment.

Lance tried to pretend like his heart didn’t warm at that. “Thanks. I try to be.”

Just then, Pidge stood up on their seat, cutting the conversation short.

“I think you all know what time it is!” They announced.

There were confused faces all around the table.

Romelle cocked an eyebrow. “Um, seven-thirty?”

Pidge gaped at her. “ _No,_ we have a tradition!”

Their eyes found Lance’s. He stared up at them in confusion, wondering what in the world they were talking about. Tradition?

And then it clicked.

His eyes went wide and he nearly fell over trying to get out of his seat.

“Last one to touch the slide is it!” He shouted, already booking it for the playground.

Pidge was right on his heels. He heard a few confused yelps behind him, but he kept running. No way was he gonna let Pidge beat him this time.

It was time to kick their ass at tag.

***

Keith, not for the first time, wished he had longer legs. After he realized what was happening, he followed everyone else to the slide. He ended up being the last one there, and, subsequently, “it”.

Long story short, he wasn’t doing too well. Lance was well ahead of everyone else because that boy had legs for _days_ , and Pidge was small and quick. Everyone else was surprisingly fast. It took a while, but Keith finally landed a touch on Romelle.

“Keith!” She screeched, but he was already hoofing it in the other direction.

He spotted Lance hiding by the swing set. He was crouched behind one of the bars, in plain sight. Keith knelt beside him, and the two of them watched as Romelle chased after Shay.

“Nice one,” Lance nudged the shorter boy. “I was beginning to think you’d never catch her.”

“Shut up,” But Keith was smiling. “She’s faster than I am.”

“So is everyone else, apparently—”

“Move!”

He grabbed Lance’s hand and dragged him away from Romelle, who was getting a little too close for comfort. The two of them rushed to join Pidge on the other side of the playground. Their face turned frantic when they saw them coming, and they waved their hands in an attempt to dissuade them.

“Don’t lead her over here!” They shouted.

Lance’s grin was devilish as he ran. “Brace yourself, shrimp!”

And then it was the three of them, on the run from Romelle.

“You asshole,” Pidge hissed, elbowing Lance so he stumbled out of Keith’s grasp. “My hiding place was great!”

“Sure didn’t look like it,” Keith huffed. He was beginning to lose his breath. “We saw you from all the way across the par—ah!”

A hand pressed into the spot between his shoulder blades. He stumbled forward before taking a second to look back. Romelle stood there, wiggling her fingers slyly.

“Looks like you’re it again, Keithy boy.” She said.

_Shit._

And it became a vicious cycle. The only two people to never get tagged were Pidge and Lance, and only because they were caught up in a childish bet to see who would lose first. Instead, the title slipped from Shay to Hunk to Romelle then back to Keith again.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. Sure, Hunk and Shay were nothing more than perfect strangers to him a few days ago, but he found himself warming up to them quickly. Seeing Pidge around their friends made him happy, too; they seemed so natural and at home.

And, of course, there was Lance. The more Keith saw of him, the more he wanted to get to know him. He was… intriguing.

And boy could he run.

“Lance…” Keith wheezed, hands on his knees. He wasn’t sure why he even tried to go after him anymore—Lance could probably leg it to Colorado and back and still have energy to spare.

“Can’t keep up?” He was a good ten yards ahead, just standing there as if Keith were no threat to him at all. “Come on.”

“Slow down.”

“No can do, Kogane. Catch me if you can.”

And then they were off again. Keith was pretty sure everyone else was just watching, amused, but he didn’t care. He was starting to get a little pissed that Lance wouldn’t yield.

Suddenly, he got an idea. He veered towards the playground instead of chasing the other boy, and hid behind one of the plastic towers. If he was right, and he generally was, Lance would run right past here and…

“Gotcha!”

Keith’s hand shot out and grasped the first thing it touched. A girlish scream sounded from his victim, but it didn’t sound like Lance.

“No!” It was Hunk’s arm that Keith’s hand had wrapped around, and a wave of disappointment washed over him.

He didn’t have much time to process that, though, because he realized then that he was no longer it, and he was now prey.

Keith booked it from the little plastic building and made for the grass again. Lance stood on the lawn, arms folded smugly. The dying light of the sun backlit him in a way that drove Keith crazy.

“Well, you managed to nab _someone.”_ He smirked.

“Can you stop insulting me for ten seconds?” Keith grumbled, grabbing Lance by the arm for the second time that day and dragging him in the opposite direction. “Hunk’s gonna nab _you_ if we’re not careful!”

“Okay, okay!” Lance laughed, following Keith dutifully.

The two of them ran until they were far enough away to watch their friends chase each other. They stood and caught their breath as Hunk tagged Shay, Shay tagged Hunk again, Hunk tagged Romelle, and vice versa. Pidge avoided them all deftly.

They looked happy. Really happy.

_I wish Shiro could see this._

The thought bulldozed through Keith’s good mood like a freight train. Every time he let himself have fun…

He dropped Lance’s arm and went about rubbing his own. It helped to ground him sometimes. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working.

He hadn’t seen Shiro since yesterday. His condition hadn’t improved much, and he saw the worry in Allura’s eyes whenever he brought it up. She didn’t say, but he knew she was concerned about all the same things.

_What if he never wakes up?_

No more GOT marathons, no more lame jokes, no more brotherly advice. Keith would be all alone again.

And it would be his own damn fault.

“You okay?”

Keith, shaken from his stupor, looked up at Lance. He frowned down at him, concern in those gorgeous, navy eyes of his.

“I’m fine,” Keith waved him off.

A moment of silence passed. Keith stared down at his shoes, still rubbing his arms. He realized he wasn’t being very convincing, but neither of them said anything about it.

After a few seconds, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Can I show you something?” Lance asked.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “What about the game?”

Lance looked back at their friends, who were still very engrossed in tag. “They’ll be fine without us. Come on.”

He tugged Keith towards the tree line. The sun had caught on the horizon, and seemed to hover there as they delved into the woods. Dead leaves crunched beneath their feet.

“Where are you taking me?” Keith gave the other boy a quizzical look.

Lance gave him that infuriating smirk of his. “I’m about to change your life.”

“Nice Hamilton reference, but I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

Keith doubted that, but followed Lance anyway. The delighted shrieks of their friends grew fainter as they got further from the playground. On the off chance that Lance was leading him away to slit his throat, they wouldn’t be able to hear him. Though, he supposed Lance was too spindly to be a serial killer. On the other hand, he was also too spindly to protect him from one.

The things he did for pretty boys.

A few seconds later, the shouting had been all but replaced by the sound of rushing water. Keith had only been to this park once or twice, but never this far into the woods. He hadn’t heard anything about a stream.

But that’s exactly what they found. Lance led him to a small clearing littered with orange leaves. A ribbon of water cut right through the middle, catching the light in pretty ways. He couldn’t hear the sounds of the street at all; the bubbling of the stream drowned out his thoughts completely.

He looked over at Lance.

“Wow.” He said. “This is… really nice. How did you find it?”

Lance shrugged. “I picked it out a few years ago. I go here to figure stuff out.”

He grabbed Keith’s hand again and pulled him over to the edge of the stream. The two of them sat just beyond the muddy bank, letting the mist settle over their shoes.

“You looked like you needed a second,” Lance continued. “You looked like you needed one earlier, too. Are my friends making you nervous?”

Damn. He sure didn’t look it, but Lance sure was observant.

Keith nodded.

“A little. I’m not very social.”

“I get it. My brother, Luis, is the same way. He never went to parties in high school.” Lance tossed a pebble into the water, where it sunk to the bottom with a hollow thud. “Wanna talk about it?”

 _Yes,_ Keith almost said. _Yes, because for some reason, I want to spill my entire life story to you._ But he stopped himself. The two of them had just become friends, and the last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize that.

“No. Thanks, though.”

“Anytime.”

Lance was a thoughtful guy, Keith realized. He seemed pretty happy-go-lucky around their friends, but there were layers to his personality. Lots of people probably never got past the surface.

Keith made a new goal for himself then. Shiro was going to want some stories if— _when—_ he woke up.

And he was going to tell him just how he got to know Lance like the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. This was so hard to write. I might cry.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for being patient! I’m sorry I missed the last update (my trip was fun, though), and I’m sorry that this ended up being a day late. I go back to school next week so I might have to cut the Wednesday updates until I get things under control. I’ll let you know what I decide to do!
> 
> Also, my sincerest apologies if this chapter wasn’t up to par. Like I said, I’ve been real busy with registration and stuff. You’re all angels for putting up with me <3
> 
> Sooo… season 7 happened. I’m gonna keep my opinions to myself until the discourse dies down a bit lol. Please be kind to one another!
> 
> ~DontTouchMySpaceBuns


	6. 24 Days PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance isn't as responsible as he thought he was.

**_Lancey Lance:_** I lost the ring

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** you what

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** I cant find it and I’m freaking out

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** Uhhhhh shit

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** does hunk know?

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** Of course not, he’d never trust me with anything ever again

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** He’s out and I need to find it before he gets back

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** ok stay calm where did u last see it

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** in the living room

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** start there

Lance set his phone down, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously. This could not be happening. He did _not_ just lose his best friend’s engagement ring.

Except that he did, and he was beyond screwed if he couldn’t find it.

He did as he was told and booked it to the front room. He tried to retrace his steps, thinking back to where he sat and what he did last night. It wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped.

He ran his hands over the coffee table and checked both of the drawers—nothing. He checked the recliner—nothing. He pressed his face into the carpet—nothing.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** I can’t find it

Keith took a moment to respond this time.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** damn

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** uhhh

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** check the kitchen

Lance wasted no time. He rushed to the kitchen, eyes sweeping every countertop. He lifted papers and looked over by the microwave. He even checked the oven—but nothing was there.

His phone buzzed again.

 ** _Hunka Dunka:_** about to head home, u want me to grab u anything on the way?

“Shit, shit, shit,” Lance muttered, hurriedly typing a response.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** yesd pc k up chese sitcks

Not his finest moment, but cut him some slack; he was in a state.

He ran his hands along every surface twice, but only managed to pick up crumbs and two new papercuts. He found nothing in the drawers but silverware and measuring cups.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** ITS NOT THERE!!!

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** IDK WHAT U WANT ME TO DO????

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** what happens if you don’t find it?

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** i lose my best friend’s trust and ruin his future. Also I spend the rest of my life trying to pay him back

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** you’re being dramatic, just tell him what happened

Lance almost laughed out loud. That absolutely was _not_ an option, especially with the stakes this high. Hunk was way too important to let down.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** where else should I look

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** you know your place better than I do

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** just give me some suggestions, I don’t have time to give you the grand tour

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** fine. Bathroom?

Lance checked there next. Maybe it fell out of his pocket when he took a shower…? No, the floor was clear. Maybe he set it down on the counter…? Not there, either.

Why did he ever offer to take that ring? _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

He ran around the apartment for the next ten minutes, trying desperately (and in vain) to follow Keith’s instructions. He checked Hunk’s room, his own room, the kitchen again and the living room two more times.

Then it _really_ sunk in. He’d _actually_ lost it. He would be the one responsible for ruining the rest of Hunk’s life. He would never get to be the best man at their fabulous, wholesome wedding. He would never get to babysit their beautiful children when they went on vacation, or plan secret surprises for their anniversaries every year, and he could _forget_ about the bachelor party.

He was officially the worst wingman ever.

Lance sank into the couch cushions, resigning himself to fate. There really was no way to fix this. He was broke as hell, and he was pretty sure the only way to repay his friend would be a lifetime of worship and servitude. Not that he would mind—there were few people in this world more worthy of such things than Hunk—but he would prefer to leave the debt out of it.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of him.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** did you find it?

Lance sighed. Not only was he a royal screw-up, but Keith knew all about it. Come to think of it, why had he texted him in the first place? He supposed he could’ve chalked it up to the fact that Keith was the only one he told about keeping the ring yesterday, but he knew better. He knew it was because of his big, stupid crush. Things just kept getting worse…

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** will u make sure that Pidge only says nice things at my funeral

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** Pidge is gonna say whatever the hell they want

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** are you sure you looked everywhere?

Suddenly, Lance’s ears picked up on the clattering of the noisy elevator outside, and his heart sunk even further. Hunk was back, and his life was about to end.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** pretty sure

He sighed, wishing he could sink into the space between the couch cushions like loose change—

Wait a minute.

_The couch cushions._

Lance’s hand dove into the space between them, fishing around. There was nothing in the first crack, so he moved onto the second just as he heard keys turning in the lock.

Suddenly, miraculously, unbelievably, phenomenally, his fingers curled around something small and square. He pulled his arm back, salvation in hand. The relief that washed over him rivaled that of a tsunami.

He’d found the ring.

“YES!” He shouted, falling backwards onto the couch and giggling like a schoolgirl.

He was safe. The ring was safe. Hunk was going to marry the most amazing girl in the world and they were going to have the most beautiful babies and—

“Dude, what are you doing?”

Lance’s laughter died. He shot up, shoving the ring-box into his pocket. Hunk stood by the coffee table, eyebrows raised to high heaven. His big arms were draped with several plastic bags.

“Hunk, buddy!” Lance shot up and wrapped his arms around his roommate. “I’m just… so glad you’re back!”

“I was gone for an hour,” Hunk tried to pry Lance’s arms off, but wasn’t having much luck with all the bags on him. “Seriously, what did you do while I was gone?”

Lance pulled back, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous smile. He used to be such a good liar… what happened?

“Ah, you know,” He shrugged. “Just texted Keith some more.”

Hunk seemed to buy that. He nudged him playfully, a teasing smile on his lips.

“You guys are cute,” He said. “Wanna help me put away these groceries?”

Lance pretended to be annoyed, but breathed a sigh of relief when Hunk disappeared into the kitchen. He pulled out his phone and replied to Keith’s earlier text.

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** crisis averted, it was between the couch cushions. Thanks for your help.

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** see? You were just being dramatic

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** are you going to be at the shop later?

 ** _Lancey Lance:_** yeah, why?

 ** _I’m Not Keith Kogane (I Promise):_** see you then

***

“What are you smiling about?”

Keith shoved the phone into his pocket, pink dusting his cheeks. He avoided Allura’s gaze.

“Nothing,” He folded his arms. “Can’t a guy just smile?”

Allura sat in the seat next to him. “Yes, but not you.” She leaned in close, an impish grin on her face. “Is it that _Lance_ boy Pidge has told me so much about?”

Keith visibly sputtered. He shook his head vigorously, then took a moment to pause.

“Wait, they _told_ you about him?” He gaped. “Why would they do that?”

Allura shrugged. She tapped her pen against the table to a beat that Keith didn’t recognize.

“They came in yesterday with Adam and told me about the picnic you guys had arranged for last night. They mentioned that both you and Lance were going to be there, and they mentioned that you, ah… you’ve taken quite a shine to him.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone think that? We just became friends, like, five days ago. We met because I accidentally attacked him.”

“That’s not what Pidge told me.”

“Well, Pidge is a little shit, and you can tell them I said that.”

Allura just chuckled, waving him off. “I’m going to leave that to you. Anyways, how have you been? You haven’t been coming in as often.”

Keith frowned. She was right, he really hadn’t. He was still playing catch-up from being absent at work for so long, and he was so caught up in his new group of friends that he supposed he hadn’t been thinking about Shiro as much as he should. The thought made his stomach churn.

“Hey,” Allura placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re recovering, and it’s normal for you to be focusing on other things around this point. Like I said, you can’t spend all your time moping.”

Keith nodded, still unsure. His gaze slid to Shiro in the bed behind her, breathing out of sync with the EKG. The blankets had been pulled down just far enough to expose what was left of his right arm, swaddled in bandages. The sight of it alone was enough to quash Keith’s good mood.

“How’s he doing?” He asked, returning his attention to Allura.

She looked down at her clipboard. “Well, his injuries are healing well. We’re keeping an eye on his ribs, though. Other than that, I’d say he’s on the right track.”

“You mean, other than being in a coma?” Keith grumbled.

Allura’s face softened. “He’s strong, Keith. He’ll pull through.”

“I… yeah. I know.”

Her eyes flicked from him to his brother, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm

“I’ll give you two some time alone,” She said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Keith nodded and thanked her. He watched as she made to leave the room, silvery hair swishing behind her like a cape. It was the same shade that Shiro had dyed part of his hair a few years ago on a dare. He kept it because Adam claimed it was “edgy”.

Just before Allura left the room, though, she stopped short. Her eyes focused on a point in the hallway, and she smiled.

“Coran!” She exclaimed.

A familiar face entered the room. He had bright, ginger hair, about Keith’s length. His eyes were the same color as Allura’s.

He also happened to be Keith’s boss.

Allura threw her arms around her uncle. He laughed, moustache twitching as his mouth moved.

“There’s my girl!” He said. “How’s it going?”

Allura released him. “Good. Really good. It’s been too long.”

“I have to agree,” Coran scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Anywho, I figured I was long overdue for a visit. The receptionist said you’d be up here.” His eyes scanned the room, and widened when they found Keith. “Keith? What are you doing he—oh. Right. Well, it’s good to see you, my boy!”

Keith probably should’ve seen the hug coming, but he flinched anyway. He laughed nervously and tried to return it as best he could.

“It’s good to see you, too.” He managed to get out.

“What a wacky coincidence! You know, I was going to put this off ‘til tomorrow, but I’m glad I didn’t.”

“You see me at work almost every night.”

“Ah, yes, but that’s different. Allura, it’s almost your lunch break, yes?”

Allura looked down at her watch, then back up in surprise. “You remembered.”

Coran tapped his temple with a finger. “Steel trap. Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Allura looked over at Keith. “Would you like to come with us? It’s no trouble.”

Keith waved her off. “Nah, that’s okay. I… I think I’ll hang out here for a bit.”

“Alright. We’ll be down in the cafeteria if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

Allura and Coran slipped from the room with a good-natured wave. After saying goodbye, Keith sank further into his seat.

“Coran is… something.” He said to the emptiness once they were gone. “You always seemed to think so. Huh, Shiro?”

Silence.

“Yeah, okay. You want to hear about yesterday?” Keith pretended to wait for a response. “Well, we played tag. In a park. Like four-year-olds.” He cleared his throat. “It was… kind of fun. Lance was there; so were Pidge and Romelle. I think you’d have liked it.”

He was getting pretty good at this whole one-sided conversation thing. The words fell from his lips as if they’d been rehearsed, and that scared him. He didn’t _want_ to be good at it.

“Allura says you’re healing up well,” He continued. “I mean, apart from your ribs, apparently, but she says they’re watching them.”

For someone in a coma, Shiro certainly didn’t look it. Sure, he was covered in bandages, but he had the most peaceful expression on his face. Keith almost laughed. His brother used to joke all the time about taking a “seven-year nap” to recover from wedding planning.

At the rate he was going, there was a good chance he’d get his wish after all.

***

Sometimes, Lance _really_ hated his job.

“Sir, I already told you, you were supposed to cut the stems and put the flowers in water as soon as possible.”

“Nobody told me that!”

“We include care instructions on our website. Here, let me—”

“I want my money back!”

The customer was a big guy, at least a foot taller than Lance. His attitude was about twice his size.

Lance sighed. At first, the guy was intimidating. Now, though? He was just annoying.

“Sir, I can’t give you your money back for something that we had no control over. I’m sorry your flowers died, but that’s what flowers do _._ They _die.”_

“Not after three days!” The man crossed his burly arms. “Those flowers were for my wife on our anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, please step aside so I can help the other customers—”

“I. Want. My. Money. Back.”

 _Where the hell is Vic when I need her?_ Lance glanced around the shop, but the only people in it were him and the angry dude. The two customers that had been standing by the daisies just moments before must’ve left when the guy started yelling.

He sighed. _Might as well give him what he wants._

“I guess I can give you a replacement bouq—”

A sudden, distant rumbling from outside cut him off. Lance cocked his head to look beyond the loud customer and out the window. Down the road, a red motorcycle came speeding in the shop’s direction. He didn’t think much of it—motorcycles drove by all the time—but his interest piqued when the bike pulled up to the curb near the front door. What was someone who drove a motorcycle doing in a place called _Oopsie Daisy—_

 _Oh_.

He knew who it was before they even took their helmet off. That leather jacket had been stuck in his head for a week straight.

Lance’s surprise morphed into a smile.

“Excuse me,” he cut the angry customer off, who’d gone back to shouting. “I have an order to fill.”

“What? But you—”

“Keith! How can I help you?”

The big guy followed Lance’s gaze to the doorway. Keith stood there, helmet in hand, a look of slight confusion on his face. He cocked his head to the side.

“Uh, hey, Lance.” He stepped inside. “I’m here to—”

“You know what? That’s it!” The angry customer brought a fist down on the counter, making the cash register shake. “This place is getting the worst Yelp! review I’ve ever written.”

He turned on his heel and pushed past Keith in his hurry to get out of the shop.

“Have a nice day!” Lance called after him.

 You know what? It was probably better that Vic hadn’t been there to see how he handled that.

He turned his attention back to Keith, who stood over by the daisies in a bubble of his own confusion. _Bless him._

“So, you got your bike back?” Lance observed, gesturing to the motorcycle parked outside.

That seemed to shake Keith from his stupor. He blinked, then turned to face the taller boy.

“Uh, yeah,” He said. “Pidge got it back to me this morning before—yeah. This morning.”

It fit. The bike fit Keith _so well,_ right down to the color. Lance almost laughed out loud.

“Roses again?”

“You know me so well.”

Lance hopped out from behind the counter and brushed past Keith on his way to the rose display. Looking back on it, there were one or two other routes he could’ve taken to get there, but neither of them would’ve allowed him the luxury of taking in Keith’s aroma of leather and exhaust. Somehow, he managed to make it work.

“Who are these for, anyway?” Lance asked, trying to make conversation as he plucked the bouquet from its bucket.

Keith sat down on the stool by the counter. “A friend.”

“Must be some friend for you to come spend thirty bucks on them every week.”

“Ha, yeah.”

Lance brought the flowers back to the register. Keith handed him the money, and he got to ringing him up.

“So, do you work every Tuesday?” Keith fiddled with the gloves on his hands.

Lance shrugged. “Depends. Do you plan on coming in every Tuesday?”

Keith’s cheeks reddened, if only for a split second. “Um, I mean, yeah. I guess.”

“Cool. Guess I can start calling you a regular.”

“Oh? Is that a step up from the friend-zone?”

Lance didn’t expect to laugh. It wasn’t that funny, but something about the way Keith said it made it that much more hilarious.

“What, the _regular-_ zone?” He grinned. “You should get that on a t-shirt.”

“I’m sure Pidge will make me one for christmas.”

Lance finished checking Keith out. He handed him the bouquet, almost reluctantly. He didn’t want to say goodbye so soon.

“Anything else I can do for you?” He asked, hating the childish note of hope in his voice.

If Keith picked up on it, he didn’t say. “Actually, I… how much longer is your shift?”

Lance blinked in surprise. “Uh, I get off at nine. Why?”

“I don’t have work until seven. Mind if I keep you company?”

He could’ve screamed. Seriously—he was on the verge. Still, some miraculous force kept him in check. Instead, he settled for a smile that was way too big.

“Not at all. Tuesdays are kind of slow.”

He watched as Keith set his helmet on the table. The shorter boy pulled his hair out of the low ponytail it’d been in and shook it out, messing it up in a way that should not have looked as good as it did. Lance tore his gaze away before he could think too much about it.

“So, did you tell Hunk about what happened with the ring earlier?” Keith asked.

Lance groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Ugh, don’t bring that up. Those were the most stressful fifteen minutes of my life. Of _course_ I didn’t tell him.”

Keith folded his arms, a playful smirk on his lips. “You did seem pretty freaked.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Are you gonna be the best man?”

Lance puffed out his chest a bit. “Yup. I’ve been guaranteed the spot.”

“Huh. Figures.”

“You know, he’ll probably invite you, too, now that you guys are buddies. He’s a pretty welcoming guy.”

Keith didn’t look so sure. He did that lip-bitey thing again.

“I dunno,” He shrugged. “I’m not really the type of person who gets invited to weddings.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a ‘type of person’. Come on, Mullet! It’ll be fun.”

Keith drummed his fingers along the counter. He seemed to consider that, thoughtfully quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” He looked up, and Lance was momentarily distracted by those dark eyes. “Hey, thanks for what you did yesterday, by the way. I… I needed that.”

Lance, surprised by the sudden acknowledgement, nodded. “Yeah, of course.” He affirmed. “Was it just the atmosphere?”

Keith paused for a second, then shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I was having fun though, don’t get me wrong. I’m just… very much an introvert.”

Lance chuckled. “So I gather. For what it’s worth, you can come find me next time that happens. I won’t mind.”

Like Lance said, he was a bit of a social butterfly, but he could see where Keith was coming from. He was always worried about saying the wrong thing, and that could get pretty exhausting sometimes. For that reason, he preferred smaller groups. Keith seemed to be the same way.

“Thanks,” Keith admitted. His shoulders seemed to relax a bit.

When he looked at Lance, the sweetest smile adorned his lips, and it was damn near the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

_Stop that._

He couldn’t go down that road again, especially not with Keith. Their friendship got off on the right foot, and he wasn’t about to ruin that. Not when there was so much potential.

So, when he caught Keith’s gaze again, it was with platonic intentions.

Platonic intentions that disappeared the _second_ Keith opened his mouth.

“Tell me about your family,” He prompted.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “My family? What for?”

“I don’t know,” Keith looked down at his hands. “You just kind of… get really happy whenever you talk about them. You look so proud whenever you talk about your sister.”

Lance’s heart warmed. He couldn’t believe Keith had noticed that.

“Well,” He began, leaning against the counter. “I have three siblings: Marco, Luis, and—oh, you know Vic. She has two kids, Ben and Mari. They’re adorable. Anyway, those three live with my mom in Seaside. Then there’s my _abuela,_ Alicia, and my _abuelo,_ Manuel. They live up in Seattle.”

“What about your dad?”

“Oh, uh…” Lance rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, he and my mom got divorced a few years ago. He lives up by my parents with Luis and Marco.”

Keith frowned, nodding. “So, on Friday, when you said—”

“When I said we all ‘grew apart’? Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He sighed, then put on a smile. “But that was a long time ago. It wasn’t that big a deal, anyway.” He waved a hand, noncommittal. “What about your family? You said they didn’t live in the area.”

“My mom and dad are in Portland,” Keith said. “And my brother—” For a split second, an indiscernible expression slid over his face, but Lance blinked and it disappeared. “My brother is out of town.”

“Are you the oldest?” Lance asked.

Keith shook his head. “Nah, that’s… that’s Shiro.” He chuckled. “I mean, he acted— _acts—_ like he’s my dad sometimes.”

Lance didn’t miss the slip-up. In fact, it might’ve been the only part of the sentence he heard. _Acted?_

_Looks like we’ve both got some family issues._

But he didn’t comment on it. Now was not the time or place for deep, soul-searching conversations. He’d leave it for another day.

Eager for a change of subject, Lance cleared his throat.

“So,” He began. “What do you do when you’re not drawing or serving alcohol?”

The corners of Keith’s mouth turned upward again, and Lance couldn’t help but mirror it. _You look better when you’re happy._

“I don’t know,” The raven-haired boy swung his feet back and forth—they didn’t completely touch the floor. “I guess I like going to the movies. I hang out with Pidge at the shop a lot, too.”

“What kind of movies?”

“Zombieland is my favorite. I like Jurassic park, too.”

“Zombieland…” Lance frowned. “Huh. I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

“I’ll show it to you sometime.”

Lance tried not to show how excited that made him. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Zombie movies. Normally, they weren’t really his thing, but with Keith around? They might be.

“No offense, but you strike me for the rom-com type.” Keith noted.

Lance scoffed, pressing a dainty hand to his chest. “Bold of you to assume! And, anyway, what’s wrong with rom-coms?”

Keith chuckled. “Nothing, you just… seem like you’d enjoy them.”

“Excuse me, but _When Harry Met Sally_ is a masterpiece,” Lance folded his arms. “And what gave you the impression?”

“Does it matter? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Is it because I work in a flower shop? Keith, stereotypes are harmful, prejudiced things—”

“You are reading way too much into this,” Keith laughed. “It was a wild guess, calm down.”

“’Wild guess’ my _ass,”_ Lance rolled his eyes. “Y’know, I could’ve said the same thing about you and _My Chemical Romance_ , but did I?”

Keith shrugged. “They’re a good band.”

“ _What?_ Oh my god!” Lance burst into a fit of laughter. “That’s—that’s too good!”

“Shut up,” Keith grumbled.

“Wait, were you a _scene kid_ in high school?”

“Shut _up,”_

“Did you dye your hair?”

“What? No, I—” Keith paused, a sly grin creeping onto his lips. “No, but Pidge did.”

Lance’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Their entire head was bright green.”

“Oh my g—you guys were scene kids _together?”_

“Just… focus on Pidge.”

“I just got blackmail fuel for the rest of my life. You’re a blessing, Kogane.”

Keith shook his head, but couldn’t stop the smile that followed. Lance’s laughter died down after a second, and his eyes found Keith’s again.

Talking to him was easy. _Being_ with him was easy. It didn’t matter if Keith was opposite him in every way, shape and form—they clicked.

The boys stared at each other for a moment, taking each other in. Perfect strangers—that’s what they’d been a few weeks ago.

And Lance didn’t ever want to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith's favorite movies are my favorite movies, by the way.
> 
> If you haven't caught on (no shame lol) this story takes place somewhere near Seaside, Oregon. I go there on vacation every couple of years and it's the most beautiful place in the world. Also, fun fact: the angry dude was Sendak.
> 
> Anyway, updates might get a little more sporadic for the next little while because of school. I'm going to try to post every Saturday, but I'm also going to see if I can't get other chapters up at random times during the week. I always post on my Instagram story whenever I update, so follow me @DontTouchMySpaceBuns if you want to be notified.
> 
> Thanks for reading! You guys have been amazing with the feedback <3
> 
> ~DontTouchMySpaceBuns


	7. 31 Days PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is a dumbass and Lance is bad at feelings.

Keith had it _bad._

He watched Lance work from the other side of the counter, the dopiest grin on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked at someone like that.

It didn’t help that the two of them had been seeing a lot of each other recently. Ever since they started texting, they hadn’t stopped. Keith could spend hours scrolling through their conversations and still not reach the end. The whole gang had gotten together in the past week a couple times, too. He was becoming a part of their traditional picnics. While he enjoyed being around the others, Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t go mainly to see Lance.

His big, stupid crush was getting out of control, and it was his own damn fault.

Growing up, he didn’t have a lot of time for romance. He got placed in the foster system when he was nine years old, and moved around from home to home until he was sixteen. He could say, with absolute certainty, that those were the seven, most hellish years of his life. He did everything wrong, got in with all the worst crowds—but Shiro had been the one to pull him out of it. He forced Keith to open up, and made himself Keith’s main pillar of support.

Now Keith was alone again, for the first time in nine years. All he could do was watch as things fell into place around him; it was all out of his control.

But Lance was new. Lance was different. Lance was _exciting._ Keith’s visits to the flower shop became the highlight of his week. It became a place he could go to escape the sterile, white walls of the hospital, or Pidge’s incessant questions. He was allowed to just… _be._

Today marked Keith’s fourth visit to the shop. He was settling into a routine of sorts, which helped keep his mind off of Shiro. On Tuesday’s, he’d get ready, go visit him, and then hop on the bus to see Lance. Er, get flowers. Yeah.

“Hey, would it be weird if I did another open mic night?”

Lance’s voice tore him from his thoughts. He looked up.

“What? No.” Keith said. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to do it again.”

Lance smiled. “Great minds think alike. I’ll email Coran tonight.”

“I’ll just tell him when I go in to work tonight.”

“You’re the best, Mullet.”

Lance finished ringing him up, but didn’t hand over the flowers. Instead, he leaned forward on the counter, resting his chin in his hands. Keith resisted the urge to count every single one of his freckles.

“So,” The taller boy began. “What’s riding a motorcycle like?”

“What, you’ve never ridden one before?” Keith was genuinely surprised. Lance seemed like the type to have gotten into some pretty wild shit in high school.

Lance shook his head. “No, _mamá_ would kill me. Thus, I must live vicariously through you. Spill.”

 _Smart mom,_ Keith thought.

“Well,” He said, not really sure where to begin. “I mean, it’s like riding a scooter. A really fast scooter. When you don’t wear a helmet, you can feel the wind in your hair and—”

“You don’t wear a _helmet?”_ Lance screeched, eyes wide. His jaw dropped so low Keith thought it might hit the floor. “Keith!”

“Hey, don’t interrupt.”

“I will most certainly interrupt if your safety is in _jeopardy!”_

“Lance, that was once, like, two years ago. Calm down.” Keith huffed. “Anyway, it’s just… really cool. Even if I had the money for a fancy car, I think I’d keep my bike.”

Lance took a moment to absorb that, then shook his head, chuckling to himself.

“You’re crazy, dude. Wicked crazy.” He winked. “You should take me for a ride sometime, DareDevil.”

Keith’s inner panic at the thought allowed him to completely ignore the suggestive way Lance had said it. “Nope, no way.”

Lance pushed his eyebrows together. “Why not?”

 _Because I can’t send another person I care about to the hospital,_ Keith thought, but settled for something a little less up-front.

“I don’t ride with people,” He admitted. “It’s hard for me to focus on a passenger and the road at the same time.”

Lance pouted. He stuck his lower lip out in a way that almost make Keith want to say yes.

“Not even me?” He whined.

“Not even you.”

“So mean.” Lance pushed the flowers across the table, an expression of exaggerated melancholy on his face. “Just take your flowers. I don’t deserve to be bullied like this.”

“You’re acting like a four-year-old.” Keith rolled his eyes, but kept a smile on his face.

He took the flowers, plastic crinkling beneath his fingers. A familiar, floral stench wafted up from the petals. It wasn’t so bad at first, but being at the shop as often as he was made him miss fresh air.

“Are you ever gonna tell me who those are for?” Lance asked, pointing to the roses.

_Damn, you’re going for a record today, aren’t you?_

“Nope.” Keith shook his head.

“First you deny me a bike ride, now this?” Lance threw his hands up in defeat. “Here I thought we were friends!”

“Lance, it’s a long story, I—”

“Come on! What do you think I’m gonna do, sabotage you?”

 _You already have._ “It’s none of your business.”

“Pleaaaaaaaaaase—”

“They’re for my boyfriend, okay?”

The words tumbled from Keith’s lips before he knew what to do with them. Lance only stared at him, lips parted in a perfect “o”.

_Well, that’s one way to shut him up._

“Boyfriend?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know… you’re dating someone?”

Keith blanked. _Shit, shit, shit—_

“Uh, yeah.” _What am I doing?_ “His name is… James.” He pulled the name right out of his ass. “Yeah, we met at the bar.”

_You idiot, you absolute—_

“Oh.” Lance frowned for a second, but Keith blinked and found a smile in its place. “That… that’s great! I’m happy for you.”

Keith did his best to return the expression. “Uh, thanks.”

The world’s most awkward silence passed between them. Lance pretended to type something into the register, while Keith played with his gloves.

This was just like every bad teen movie Keith had ever seen. He should’ve fessed up right then, but some moronic voice in the back of his head told him to keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t tell Lance now; he’d think he was an idiot. Not that he wasn’t (using the events of a few seconds ago as exhibit A), he just preferred to keep that to himself.

He stared down at the flowers. They didn’t look so pretty anymore.

_Looks like I’m taken._

***

At first, Lance was just thrilled that Keith was into guys.

But then it actually hit him: Keith had a _boyfriend._ How, in the month the month since they’d met, hadn’t Lance considered the possibility? Of _course_ it was too good to be true. Of _course_ someone came along and swept Keith off his feet before he could. Of _course_ Lance was too stupid to realize that— _hello—_ flowers were a surefire indicator of a relationship.

Maybe he really was destined to end up alone.

When Keith finally left, he breathed a sign of relief. He slumped against the counter, burying his face in his hands. _Of course, of course, of course…_

“Hey, did Keith leave?”

Lance looked up, saw his sister, then went back to groveling. He grunted in response.

“Aw, don’t worry,” Vic ruffled his hair. “You’ll see him again soon.”

“That’s the _problem.”_ Lance muttered.

“How so?”

“He has a boyfriend!” He straightened up, suddenly angry. “He’s been taken this _whole time,_ and I was too dumb to realize it! He’s probably on his way to _James’_ house right now with that bouquet, and they’re gonna kiss and cuddle and—”

“Woah!” Vic held out her hands, taking a step back from the counter. “Slow down there, bro. Keith has a _boyfriend?”_

Lance crossed his arms with a huff, nodding.

“Oh. Uh…” Vic plopped into the nearest stool. _Keith’s_ stool. “Damn.”

“Tell me about it.” Lance mirrored her posture as he rested his elbows on the desk again. “I can’t catch a break, can I?”

Vic reached out to place a hand on his arm, a sympathetic expression on her face.

“Come on, don’t lose hope.” She said. “You and Keith have been good friends for a while now; it’s not like you’re losing him. What are you so upset about?”

“Pidge is never gonna let me live it down.

The look she gave him proved that she didn’t buy an ounce of his bullshit. “Come on, baby bro. Talk to me.”

Lance gave her the puppy dog eyes, but no dice. Her steely expression held fast.

“Can’t I just go pout in a corner until my shift is over?” He asked.

“Nope, you’re too cagey for that. Rant. Get it _all_ off your chest.”

She was right; he had a tendency to keep all the real stuff bottled up. It was a talent, really. A painful, damaging talent.

He sighed, staring down at his hands.

“I don’t know,” He admitted with a shrug. “I guess I just… talked myself into thinking I had a chance. I do that a lot. I’m just disappointed. Frustrated, too—this is, like, the fourth time it’s happened.”

Vic’s eyes softened. “You’re a hopeful guy, Lance. That’s not a bad thing.” She pulled her stool closer to the counter. “Besides—and I know you’re tired of hearing this—but there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

“But only one with a nice butt and a motorcycle,” Lance grumbled.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure there are plenty of those.” Vic gave him a tiny smile. “Remember that guy who came in the other day? You thought he was Keith at first.”

Lance managed a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, I get your point. I’m still pretty bummed, though.”

“And you’re allowed to be. You beat yourself up over the smallest things… but you’re getting better at talking about it, see? We just had a legitimate conversation about feelings!”

Lance groaned, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and it sucked.”

“Yeah, but it’s progress. I’m proud of you.”

He held her gaze for a moment, studying her face. Her blue eyes, nearly identical to his, crinkled at the edges as she smiled at him. Sure, they annoyed the hell out of each other sometimes.

But Lance wouldn’t trade her for the world.

Vic turned to look at the “open” sign hanging in the window. After a few seconds of staring at it, she made her way over to it and flipped it to “closed”.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Vic?”

She whirled around, triumphant. Her chocolate hair caught the light in a way that made her look like some sort of guardian angel.

“I think it’s been way too long since we had some good, old-fashioned family bonding time, don’t you?”

***

(Bonus Lance POV to make up for my inconsistency <3)

“Yes, yes, yes—no!”

Lance watched as the bowling ball rolled right into the gutter. He groaned, spinning on his heel to face his niece again. Mari giggled, twirling in her pink and purple floral dress.

“Are you laughing at me?” He folded his arms, accusatory.

“Maybe.” Mari grinned toothily. Well, as toothily as she could with one missing in the front.

“Vic!” Lance looked over at his sister where she sat talking with their mom and her son. “Your daughter is laughing at me!”

Vic just rolled her eyes. “Suck it up, _hermano.”_

Lance stuck his tongue out her, partly for Mari’s sake. She laughed harder and went to grab her bowling ball from the rack. Lance headed back to the table.

“Are you seriously encouraging her to make fun of me?” He asked, sitting down beside his sister.

She shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll stop when you stop doing embarrassing things.”

Lance gave his five-year-old nephew, Benjamin, an incredulous look across the table. “You hearin’ this, Benny?”

The boy didn’t respond; he was too busy playing with his favorite toy. He brought it everywhere—some kind of robot with cats for hands. Lance didn’t quite understand it.

“You’re going to have to get used to the teasing, _mijo,”_ Lance’s mother chided. “Your own children will be even worse than Mari.”

Lance huffed, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

At the mention of kids, though, his heart sank a little. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to find anyone to have kinds _with._ At the rate he was going, he’d end up the weird, old, single uncle. With a jolt, he realized that he already _was_. Minus the old part, of course.

“Is he still upset about that biker boy?” His mother whispered to Vic, not-so-discreetly. “He’s pouting.”

“ _Mamá,”_ Lance groaned. “Can we _not_ talk about that?”

“I’m just worried. Have you met his boyfriend?”

“No, and I don’t intend to.”

His mother shrugged, but Lance could tell the conversation was far from over.

He glanced up at the scoreboard. He was currently in third place, behind Vic and Mari. The only person below him was Benny, and only because he had trouble lifting the ball. His mother had opted not to play.

Mari stepped up to the line. She swung her arm back and launched it forward, not so much a toss as a throw. The ball hit the floorboards with a concerning “ _crack”_ , then proceeded to roll forward. It hit the first pin, which knocked over the second, which knocked over the rest of them until they all lay on their sides.

“Yes!” She pumped her tiny fist in the air, whirling to face her uncle. “ _Tío_ _,_ did you see that? I got a strike!” 

Lance laughed. “Yeah, I did. Great job!”

She hopped into the seat next to him, a triumphant smile on her lips.

“I’m a way better bowler than you,” She sneered.

 _When did she get so mean?_ Lance wondered. He remembered when she was Ben’s age, and didn’t say anything rude when she bothered to speak at all. It was hard to believe that was only two years ago.

“Benny, it’s your turn.” Lance’s mother nudged the little boy gently.

Benny looked up from his toy, frowning. “I can’t lift the ball.” He said simply.

“I’ll help you, bud.” Lance stood, brushing past Mari on his way out of the booth. “Come on.”

The two boys made their way over to the ball rack, selecting the smallest one there was. Lance took it over to the line, bending his knees to better match Ben’s height.

“Ready?” He asked, extending a hand.

Benny eyed it hesitantly. “I don’t wanna.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Lance lowered his voice. “But, if you want to beat your sister, I think you should.”

That got the boy’s attention. He stepped forward and put a hand on the ball, then looked up at his uncle.

“What do I do?” He asked.

Lance smiled, guiding his nephew through the steps. “Okay, put your fingers here—nope, not those ones—yep. And then you just pull it back, and… let go!”

The ball went spiraling down the ramp. It didn’t go right into the gutter like Lance thought it would. Instead, it rammed right into the two pins on the far left. He was about to turn to Benny and say, “better luck next time”, but the look on his face was priceless.

“I did it!” He exclaimed, grinning hugely. “I won!”

Lance’s heart grew a million sizes. “Yeah, you did! Great job, buddy.” He rustled his nephew’s hair and led him back over to the table.

Benny ran right up to his grandmother. “ _Buela,_ did you see that?”

It was supposed to be “ _Abuela”,_ but he’d misheard it when he was younger, and nobody had the heart to tell him.

“That was very good, _mijo,”_ Lance’s mother smiled, handing Benny his toy. “I think we may have a future bowling champion on our hands.”

Benjamin beamed at the praise, taking his figurine with a new determination. “When’s it my turn again?” He asked.

Vic got to her feet. “It’s me, Lance, Mari, then you, kiddo.”

As she passed Lance, she leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“You’re the coolest guy in the world to him, you know that?”

Without waiting for an answer, she sauntered over to the ball rack.

Lance looked over at his nephew, who had returned to playing with his toy, but with a renewed vigor. He made little laser noises with his mouth and moved the cat-like arms of the figurine, “attacking” his sister. Mari swatted him away, but Lance caught the mischievous grin on her face.

He smiled. He remembered when he and Vic were kids. They used to come here, to this very bowling alley, all the time as a family. Good grades, birthdays, job promotions—it was always a celebratory occasion. Lance lived for it.

But then he grew up. His parents got divorced; Marco and Luis moved out with their dad. It took months for Vic to convince _Mamá_ to come back to the bowling alley with them. It was just before Lance’s twenty-first birthday. He’d dropped out of college a few months earlier to help his mom adjust after the divorce, and it was taking quite a toll on him. Vic managed to talk their mom into getting most of the family together (apart from _Papá,_ Marco, and Luis) and heading to the bowling alley. Despite it being the worst year of his life, Lance remembered the birthday fondly. He really laughed for the first time in a long time, and you couldn’t put a price on that.

It was one of the many reasons why Vic was his hero.

With that said, she couldn’t bowl for _shit._ Her ball rolled right into the gutter, and Mari saw it all. She laughed beside her uncle.

“ _Mamá,_ you’re supposed to aim for the pins!” She said,

Lance poked her in the side. “Hey, if I remember correctly, _you_ were the one rolling gutter-balls until your dad showed you how.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

Vic came back over to the table. “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

“The bowling gene must’ve skipped our generation,” Lance offered, gesturing to his own score on the board. Vic was above him, but just barely.

She took her seat. “Yeah, sure looks like it.”

Mari was up next. She managed to take out most of the pins, to no one’s surprise. The kid was scary good. Lance did significantly worse on his turn—he only managed to knock over three.

It got to the point where he all but forgot about Keith and stupid, probably very attractive boyfriend. He just spent the day with his family, the most important people in his life equation.

But they weren’t around to distract him that night. He went straight to his room when he got home. Hunk didn’t see him until noon the next day.

Lance didn’t text Keith once.

***

(32 Days PA)

“I’m sorry, you _what?”_

“I told him I had a boyfriend.” Keith bit his lip. “Whose name is James, apparently.”

“But you _don’t_ have a boyfriend,” Pidge deadpanned. “I don’t think you’ve ever even _met_ anyone named James.”

“Yes, that _is_ the problem—”

“Dude, you screwed up. _Big time.”_

“Yeah, no shit!” Keith groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m the dumbest person alive, I _know._ How do I fix this?”

Pidge rolled their eyes. They set down the wrench they’d been holding and wiped the grease from their hands, turning to face him. Keith was slumped in a chair, leather jacket wrapped tightly around his torso to combat the cold.

“Tell him the truth,” Pidge said simply.

Keith shook his head. “No. No way. He’ll think I’m ridiculous.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Wha—hey!”

“You came to me for tough-love, and that’s what you’re getting.” Pidge shrugged. “So, I’ll say it again: be honest.”

Keith sighed. “I can’t—I’m not ready to tell him about Shiro. I think I really like him, and I don’t want to bring my baggage into it right now. It would only make things worse.”

“Worse than they already are?” Pidge folded their arms. “If I know Lance, and I should say I do, he’s probably pouting right now. He thinks he doesn’t have a chance in hell with you. I’d say that’s pretty bad.”

Keith didn’t think that was entirely true, but he let it slide.

“Is there another option?” He pleaded.

Pidge sighed. They drummed their fingers across the hood of the car they were working on as they thought.

“Well, you could always be a douchebag about it. Which I do _not_ recommend, by the way.” They offered. “Just let him think you have a boyfriend until you figure out how to tell him about your brother. Get to know him platonically before you make any moves—which you could have done _anyway,_ but I guess you just love complicating things for yourself.”

Keith wasn’t supposed to like the idea. He was supposed to buckle up and tell Lance the truth, no matter the ramifications.

But Keith, as we’ve established, is a _dumbass._ He wouldn’t know rational thought if it hit him over the head with a paddleboard. He tugged at his gloves, considering.

Like Pidge said, this would buy him some time until he figured out what to do about Shiro. He could get to know Lance better without any pressure.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the plan. He made a decision not a moment later.

 _Well,_ he thought. _Looks like I’m in love with one James Griffin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooooo it's the miscommunication trope everyone hates! You're welcome!
> 
> Anywho, sorry this is a day late! Hopefully chapter eight will be out by next weekend. You're all angels <3
> 
> Yeah, James isn't actually a character in this, I just needed a name and I thought it'd be funny to use his.
> 
> Benny is my favorite.
> 
> ~DontTouchMySpaceBuns


	8. 34 Days PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who would win: a zombie shark, or one cagey boi?

“Okay, but hear me out: _zombie sharks.”_

“Lance, shut up.”

“Wouldn’t that be _nuts?”_ Lance exclaimed, nearly slamming his glass down on the counter. “Like, undead great-whites? I’d never swim again.”

“Is he always like this when he’s drunk?” Keith asked, turning to Pidge.

They shrugged. “It depends. Sometimes he gets really emotional, but it looks like he’s on late-night Tumblr mode this time. Doesn’t take much to get him hammered.”

Lance was _not_ hammered—just a little tipsy. And he was being serious! Zombie sharks would suck like _ass._

“You just don’t as the important questions,” He chided. “This is a real issue.”

“It really isn’t.”

“But it _could_ be.”

“Keith, I am too sober to deal with this.” Pidge flung their arms over the counter, looking up at the raven-haired boy with pleading eyes. “Please?”

He just shook his head. “Come back in a year, shrimp.”

“Then I cannot be held accountable for the action I take against this man,” Pidge jabbed a finger back at Lance. “If he does not. Shut. Up.”

“But Piiidge,” Lance whined. “What about Shark Week? Would it get _cancelled?”_

“That’s it, I’m out.”

They stood and began pushing through groups of people on their way to the bathroom.

“Hm,” Lance took their seat. “They’re no fun.”

“Are you really drunk, or are you _trying_ to drive them crazy?” Keith smirked.

Lance shrugged. When he really thought about it, he supposed it was a little of both.

His glass was empty. He didn’t want to drink any more for fear of the hangover that might follow, so he set it aside. Besides, talking to Keith got better the soberer he was.

“So, did you like my songs?” He asked.

Keith nodded. “Yeah. I think you did even better than last time.”

The songs Lance had chosen were _Break Even_ by The Script, _Curious_ by Hayley Kiyoko, and _Just My Type_ by The Vamps. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t chosen the second one out of his own inner turmoil regarding Keith’s relationship status, but it wasn’t like he’d ever tell anyone that.

Speaking of which…

“So, when are we going to meet his mysterious boyfriend of yours?” Lance inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

Keith froze, cheeks reddening. He recovered in record-time, shaking off the surprise.

“Ha, yeah, about that…” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “Not everybody knows. About James, I mean. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.”

“Does Pidge know?”

“Yeah, but that’s it.” He sighed. “We’re just so new. I don’t want to get everyone involved.”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Thanks.”

It was the first time he’d brought it up since Tuesday. When they texted each other, Lance tried to steer the conversation away from it as often as he could. He didn’t know why he was as bothered by it as he was, but that didn’t mean he was going to make himself suffer by talking Keith through his relationship.

The bar was packed, per usual on a Friday. Hunk, Shay, and Romelle were all indisposed, so Pidge and Lance were the only ones that bothered to show. It was fine by Lance; it meant more one-on-one with Keith.

 _Who has a boyfriend,_ he reminded himself.

Right. _Platonic thoughts._

“But seriously,” He said. “You’re in the middle of the ocean and a zombie shark goes for your legs. What do you do?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You’re still on this?”

“I’m preparing for the inevitable.”

“You think zombie sharks are inevitable?”

“The world has to end somehow.” Lance shrugged. “Just answer the question.”

Keith sighed. He pulled a rag from his pocket and began wiping down the counter beside Lance, where a customer had just left.

“I don’t know,” He said finally. “I mean, aren’t you supposed to kick them in the nose or something? I think I heard that on Animal Planet once.”

“Yeah, but these are _zombie_ sharks. What if the nose thing doesn’t work?”

“I guess I’m dead, then.” Keith frowned. “Or am I a zombie? Can zombie animals turn people into zombie people?”

Lance gasped. “Shit, you’re right. I guess it depends.”

Keith opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. He shook his head, chuckling to himself.

“I can’t believe I’m entertaining this,” He muttered. “You remind me of teenage me.”

“Oh, yeah! Pidge told me about that.” Lance laughed. “Weren’t you, like, obsessed with Mothman?”

Keith scowled. “I was not _obsessed._ ”

“Really? ‘Cause Pidge said you had some posters. And figurines. And—”

“It’s an interesting theory, okay?” Keith rolled his eyes. “God, you’re making it sound so much worse than it was.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

He could tell Keith wanted to protest, but couldn’t quite figure out how. Finally, he sighed, resigned.

“Whatever, we’re not talking about this.” He began rearranging some glasses.

Lance laughed. In the past few weeks, he found that he enjoyed few things more than annoying Keith. His reactions were priceless.

He swung a leg forward to tap his guitar case beneath the bar, just to make sure it was still there. It was, sturdy and covered in stickers and pictures. He had several from family vacations, along with a few random ones he’d picked up along the way. His personal favorite was a picture of him and Hunk at the grand-canyon for their senior trip, taped right by the handle. It made him warm just to see it.

When he looked up at Keith again, a tipsy thought entered his mind. Would the two of them be friends long enough to warrant a picture on the guitar case? He had one of Pidge and one of Shay, along with one for each of his family members. Would Keith become a part of him, just like all of them had?

Lance shook his head to clear his thoughts. Nah, that was just drunk-him talking. Keith would get bored of him eventually. They always did.

***

“Hey, I think I’m gonna head out early.” Pidge said suddenly.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

They shrugged. “The loud music is giving me a headache.”

Keith opened his mouth, about to prod further, when Pidge shot him a look. They raised their eyebrows, looking back and forth between him and Lance. Lance didn’t seem to notice; he was too focused on the current performer.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Okay, feel better.”

“I will.” They smiled, casting a wink in his direction before hopping off the stool. “Make sure Lance gets home okay.”

“I’m not a kid,” Lance rolled his eyes. “But yeah, get lots of rest and all that. See you.”

“Bye.”

They waved before disappearing into the sea of bodies. The music seemed to swallow them whole.

After a second, Lance turned to Keith.

“Wait,” He said. “How _am_ I gonna get home?”

Keith pushed his eyebrows together. How _would_ he get home? He wasn’t in any shape to drive, nor did he have a car with him. Pidge had been the one to drive him here.

Suddenly, a sly grin spread across Lance’s lips.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to give me that bike ride after all.” He crooned.

Keith’s hands clenched into fists. “No way.”

“Aw, come on, man.” Lance tapped him on the arm. “It’ll be fun!”

“I said no.”

“Please?”

“ _No._ ” Keith huffed. “I’ll be right back. Don’t wander off.”

As he walked to the other side of the bar, he caught the tail end of Lance’s quiet, “I’m not _that_ drunk.”

He took some girls’ orders and went about mixing their drinks.

The last thing he wanted was to leave Lance in the hands of an uber driver in his state, and taxis weren’t exactly common in the area. The third option—the one _Lance_ had suggested—wasn’t much better.

But did he have a choice?

He finished filling their order and slinked back over to Lance. He was texting someone on his phone, a curious expression on his face. He looked like he might vomit.

“Who are you talking to?” Keith asked.

Lance looked up. “Oh, Vic. Apparently, I forgot to do something and now she’s pissed. No biggie—just make sure everyone goes to my funeral.”

Keith snorted. “Yeah, will do.”

“Actually, at this point, I’d better just leave the planning to you. Y’know, after I inevitably get eaten by a zombie shark. There’s gotta be garlic knots, and I expect you to at least _invite_ Beyoncé, okay?”

“Hate to break this to you, but I don’t think she’d show.”

“She doesn’t have to. I just want her to know I worshipped her in life as well as death.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide a smile. “Alright, garlic knots and Beyoncé it is.”

“You’re the best, Keith.” Lance crooned. “My funeral is going to be the party of the century, mark my words.”

“I don’t think funerals are supposed to—”

“Oh, and I want one of those PowerPoint montages! Except, instead of showing pictures of me with my family, I want you to photoshop my face onto each and every one of Kim Kardashian’s wedding photos.”

“On Kim or Kanye?”

“Surprise me.”

Totally not because he wanted to see how Lance would look in a suit, Keith silently decided on Kanye.

He looked down at his phone. The time read… way too late.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Keith asked.

Lance shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve pulled later nights. I’ll be fine.”

“Really? ‘Cause Pidge told me you’re a bit of a lightweight.”

“What? No, I’m—” Lance paused. “Okay, yeah, I can see that.”

Keith sighed. _I guess we’re doing this._

“Hold on.” He held up a finger and dialed a number. He held the phone to his ear while the dial tones trilled, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hello?” Coran’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Hey, Coran.” Keith replied. “Something came up. Is there any way I can get off now?”

“Hm…” A pause. “Normally, I’d say no, but we are a tad overstaffed tonight. I’ll have Axca take over.”

Keith breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

“No problem. Have fun with the boy in the blue shirt.”

The line went dead.

Keith’s head snapped up. His eyes found Coran standing by the door to the back room across the bar, phone in hand. He waved.

When Keith looked back at Lance, he saw that _he_ was the boy in the blue shirt.

_Damn it, Coran._

***

(35 Days PA)

“We should’ve just taken your bike.”

The two boys sat on a rickety old bus in the middle of the night. Lance could’ve _sworn_ the driver was hitting every pothole on purpose.

“I already told you, I don’t take passengers.” Keith rolled his eyes. “Besides, you’re drunk and I only have one helmet.”

“Come on, Keith. Live a little!”

“Riding a motorcycle without a helmet isn’t ‘living a little’. In fact, it’s a lot closer to ‘ _dying_ a little’.”

Lance considered that for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, but this bus smells like cat piss. Why does it smell like cat piss, Keith?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re a smart guy.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m psychic.”

“You don’t have to be psychic to know that this bus smells like pee.”

“Stop being so picky. We’re almost at your house, anyway, right?”

Lance looked out the window. It was dark, but he recognized a few of the buildings. They were pretty close to the flower shop, it looked like.

“I mean, yeah.” He shrugged. “But I think I might pass out from the smell before we get there.”

“Have you ever ridden a bus before?”

“Yeah, all the time—but not one that reeks like this.

“Can you get off the smell?”

“Yeah, yeah—whatever.”

Lance sighed, folding his arms. As unhappy as he was with their situation, he had to admit that there was no one he’d rather be spending this time with. He and Keith got closer every time they saw each other, and he was excited to see just how close they’d get.

The two of them sat beside each other. The bus was empty, aside from an elderly woman sitting at the front of the bus. She was quietly reading.

Keith, on the other hand, just stared down at his feet. He wore his bartending uniform underneath a familiar leather jacket. Instead of wearing those ridiculous fingerless gloves of his, he just held them in his hands. He looked somewhere between annoyed and thoughtful, if there was such a place.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Lance nudged his shoulder.

Keith brought his head up, raven hair falling away from his eyes. He shrugged.

“You.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. _Well, I wasn’t expecting that._

“Me?” He raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“I dunno,” Keith looked down again. “I was just thinking about how we met. It’s just freaky how coincidental it was. Like, if I hadn’t crashed my bike and been forced to take the bus that day, we probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

He was scary right. Lance wasn’t big on the whole “fate” thing, but this sounded a lot like it. Regardless, he wasn’t complaining. Not in the slightest.

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “How did you crash your bike, anyway?”

Keith visibly stiffened. He bit his lip.

“It was at that intersection over by Safeway.” Was all he said. “But everything’s fine, now. It wasn’t a bad accident.”

Something about his tone left Lance unconvinced. He’d figured out a while ago that there was a lot he didn’t know about Keith, but it was starting to become more apparent the more they saw each other. The dark-haired boy would dodge simple questions, as if he were afraid of giving the slightest thing away. However closed-off Lance thought he was, Keith was worse. _Way_ worse.

Something he was sure about now, though? It had to do with the accident.

But, if Lance had learned one thing in the twenty-four years he’d been on this earth, it was that—sometimes—you had to let the cards fall where they may. He had a feeling that prying would make things worse than they needed to be.

So he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried predicting the turns the bus driver would make without seeing the road. It was a game he played all the time as a kid in the backseat of his dad’s car, and he got pretty good at it after learning the lay of the streets. The familiarity of it helped to quiet his thoughts. He hoped Keith would somehow learn by example.

He spent a few moments sitting there, until the driver’s voice over the speakers interrupted.

“Next stop: Lincoln City.”

Suddenly, Lance had an idea.

He opened his eyes and pulled on the lever that stopped the bus, and the vehicle came to an immediate halt on the curb.

Keith sat up, confused.

“Lance, what—”

“Come on.”

Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and his guitar case and made for the front of the bus. The two of them thanked the driver before ducking out into the cool, night air.

Wasting no time, Lance dragged the other boy down the street. He knew where they were now, and he had the perfect destination in mind. He just hoped he remembered the way after all these months.

Keith, stumbling along and protesting behind him, finally tugged him to a stop about a minute or two into the run. He held onto the hem of Lance’s shirt with one hand, keeping the other on his knees while he caught his breath.

“Lance,” He breathed. “Where are we going?”

Lance, too energized to be out of breath just smiled.

“You’ll see.”

And then they were on the run again, racing through the night to someplace undisclosed.

By the time they got close, Lance had lost track of just how long they’d spent on foot. All he knew was that Keith’s hand was in his, and hell if he wasn’t going to go the long way just to hang onto that for just a little bit longer.

Finally, their destination came into view. Lance’s face brightened, and he pulled Keith into the parking lot. Their shoes hit the asphalt a little too loudly as they raced for the doors of the building.

Keith stopped again, pulling Lance to stand beside him. The two boys stared up, illuminated by the light coming from the building’s windows.

After a couple seconds of Keith’s labored breathing, he turned to Lance again, eyebrows pushed together.

“You brought me…” He paused. “To a gas station?”

Lance smiled and let go of his hand. “Yep. Come on.”

Before Keith could protest, he was already on his way to the front doors. The other boy groaned, following reluctantly.

The two pushed through into artificial light, and Lance blinked to adjust. Rows of junk food stood before them, lined with all the things his mother wouldn’t let him eat as a kid. He grinned even wider.

Keith, on the other hand, didn’t seem so sure.

“Lance, why are we—”

“Pick something.”

Without waiting for a response, Lance made for the third shelf. He grabbed a bag of tootsie rolls and a soda from the back. When he found Keith again, he saw that the other boy had picked some Cheetos.

“Wait outside, I’ll take that.” Lance gestured for Keith to hand him the bag.

Keith, confused as ever, held the chips closer to his chest. “Will you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Hand it over.”

Keith, realizing he wasn’t going to get anything out of him, rolled his eyes. He shoved the bag into Lance’s chest and turned on his heel, flipping him off over his shoulder as he headed back outside.

Lance just chuckled. Like he said, there were few things more fun than bugging that boy.

He brought his three items to the cash register at the front. He payed the total with a five and told the cashier to keep the change before leaving to join Keith.

He stood on the curb, arms folded crossly. Lance tossed him the Cheetos.

“We’re not going anywhere else until you tell me what’s going on.” Keith declared, catching them with one hand.

“Okay.”

Lance sat down on the curb, letting his guitar case rest on the ground beside him.

Keith, if possible, looked even more perplexed. With a light laugh, Lance patted the sidewalk beside him, inviting the other boy to sit down. The leather of Keith’s jacket squealed as he did so.

“So…” He cleared his throat. “We’re just gonna sit here?”

“Yup.” Lance took a swig of his soda.

“Why did you drag me to a gas station at one in the morning?”

“I wanted tootsie rolls.”

“Oh my god.” Keith groaned, burying his face in his hands.

With a jolt, Lance realized just how ridiculous their situation was. No wonder Keith was making it sound so ludicrous—it _was._ What was he thinking, dragging him out here in the middle of the night? He should’ve taken the bus right back to his apartment, but—

_Is he laughing?_

Lance looked over at Keith again and, sure enough, his shoulders were shaking with bouts of giggles. His hands clutched at his stomach in a feeble attempt to get more air.

“Holy shit,” He wheezed. “You’re just… so _you_ when you’re drunk.”

Lance hadn’t the slightest idea what that meant, but he assumed it was a good thing.

He started laughing too, and pretty soon, they were just two guys having a giggle-fit on the corner in front of a 7-Eleven.

When they finally calmed themselves down, Keith opened his bag of Cheetos and dug in. Lance did the same with his tootsie rolls.

“Shit,” Keith rubbed his fingers together. “I forgot how messy these are.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had junk food?” Lance asked.

“Not that long, but I haven’t had Cheetos since I was a kid.”

“Wow. I guess that makes tonight a monumental occasion.”

Lance held up his bag of tootsie rolls. Keith tapped his Cheeto bag against it in a sort of toast, and the two shared a smile.

_I could get used to this._

Silence wrapped around them, broken only by the crinkling of bags. Lance let the sweet, plasticky taste of the tootsie rolls settle over his tongue. He never understood why people complained about food tasting “fake” or “cheap”, like when they claimed to like actual grapes but hate artificial grape flavor. He happened to like both.

Maybe that’s why he was so okay with this. He knew Keith had a boyfriend, and that they were here under the weirdest of pretenses, but being here with him felt real, even if he was tricking himself into believing it.

The fake was fine. For now, at least.

Maybe it was the alcohol making him brave, but Lance had another idea.

“Let’s play twenty questions.” He suggested.

Keith set his bag down. “What’s that?”

“You don’t know what twenty questions is?”

“I do, I just don’t know how to play.”

“Okay. Well, it’s pretty self-explanatory. You just go back and forth asking questions until you hit twenty. Sound good?”

“I guess. You go first.”

Lance thought for a minute. “How would you spend ten-thousand dollars?”

Keith shrugged. “I mean, I’d probably save it. You never know what might happen.”

“Aw, come on! That’s a lame answer.”

“It’s a smart answer.”

“Gah, whatever. Your turn.”

“I don’t know what to ask.”

“Just… what do you want to know about me?”

Keith frowned. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, leaving little orange specks on his jeans.

“Um,” He said finally. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

_Besides tricking myself into believing you could ever be into me?_

“Well, I was pretty big into theatre in high school,” Lance began. “I wasn’t bad—I got leads and stuff, but improv was never my thing. I needed a script, ya know? Anyway, we were performing some scenes on-the-spot in class and I made the most inappropriate joke in the history of ever. In front of my _teacher._ ” He chuckled nervously. “I’m not gonna tell you what it was because just _thinking_ about it makes my skin crawl, but yeah. That’s what keeps me up at night.”

Keith smirked. “I thought you were impossible to embarrass.”

Lance scoffed. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Nope,” Keith said, popping the “P”. “Your turn.”

“Okay. Kiss, marry, kill: Hunk, Pidge, and Romelle.”

Keith scrunched up his nose. “Ugh, where’s the ‘none of the above’ option?”

Lance laughed. “Just answer the question.”

“Right… uh, I think I’d marry Hunk, obviously… kill Romelle, and kiss Pidge. What’s your biggest regret?”

The question surprised him. Biggest regret? He had a lot of them; it would be hard to choose just one.

When he really thought about it, though, there was only one that really stood out in his mind.

“Dropping out of college.” He admitted.

Keith’s eyes widened in surprise. “You dropped out?”

“Yeah, halfway through.”

“Damn,” Keith whistled. “Why?”

Lance bit his lip, uncertain. It didn’t seem like a huge deal, but he really didn’t want to open up that can of worms right now.

“My turn.” He cleared his throat. “What’s the story of your first kiss?”

Keith groaned. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Fess up.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, fine. I was fourteen. We were playing spin the bottle at a birthday party, and I had to kiss this girl from my class. It was kind of awful.”

Lance laughed. “I meant your first real kiss. Everyone knows spin the bottle doesn’t count.”

“Actually, I never—” Keith stopped himself. “Uh, I mean, it was with James.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Romantic night under the stars and all that. It was sweet.”

Lance smiled despite the pit that put in his stomach. “Aww.”

“What about yours?”

“Ugh, yet another repressed memory.” Lance chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I, too, was a wee lad of fourteen. Me and this girl, Plaxum, were walking home after school. We decided to get some snacks on the way, so we stopped. Here, actually.” He gestured up at the gas station behind them. “They had a table out here back then, so we just sat and ate. The kiss just kind of… happened. We dated for, like, a week after that, until she dumped me for some other guy.”

When Keith didn’t respond, Lance took a moment to think about what he just said.

“Oh!” His hands flew to his mouth. “I didn’t take you here with any intent—this is just the best Seven-11 for a few miles. Sentimental value and all that.”

Keith seemed to relax at that. “Oh, yeah—of course. No, you’re fine.”

“Yeah… sorry.”

“About the dumping thing, though—that’s rough, buddy.”

“Tell me about it.”

The game went on like that for a bit, spouting back and forth questions like “what’s your favorite food” or “who was your best friend growing up”. Lance didn’t feel nearly as buzzed going into it, so he was able to ask and answer with a clear head. It was nice, just hanging out and talking with Keith. He loved that they were getting closer, and, despite his progressively sobering state, he found himself getting drunk off the time they spent together. It became harder and harder to remind himself that Keith wasn’t single.

 _But,_ he thought, watching Keith laugh in the light of the gas station windows. _If this is what being friends is like, I suppose I could live with it._

Suddenly, about fifteen minutes into the game, the lights went out. Lance let out a less-than-dignified squeak as they were plunged into darkness.

“What happened?” Keith asked, turning to look back at the building.

Not a second later, the cashier stepped out onto the sidewalk. She looked exhausted.

“Hey, we’re closed for the night.” She said flatly. “I can’t let you guys sit there anymore.”

Lance sighed, looking over at Keith. “They’re booting us, Mullet.”

Keith turned back to the cashier. “Okay, thanks. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

She gave a half-hearted wave before heading in the opposite direction.

Lance groaned, lying back on the sidewalk. “And just when I was about to get some good blackmail material.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “What is it with you and blackmail?”

“You never know when it might come in handy.”

Keith stood and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Come on—get up.”

He held out a hand. Lance stared at it for a moment, not wanting to leave so soon, but he figured they’d been out long enough. He took it and allowed Keith to pull him to his feet.

But he didn’t let go. They stood, toe-to-toe, for what seemed like hours, breaths mingling in the night air.

“Your hands are freezing,” Keith murmured finally.

Lance let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I guess they are.”

Lance could barely see Keith’s face in the darkness, but he knew he was there; pale and dark-haired with those gorgeous, midnight eyes of his.

So close.

 _But still out of reach_.

Just as Lance was about to lean in and do something stupid, the realization came crashing down on him. He tugged his hand out of Keith’s and took a step back, feeling a little sick to his stomach.

 _He’s not interested,_ he reminded himself. _He never has been, and he never will be._

“We should, ah…” Lance cleared his throat. “Get going.”

Keith nodded slowly. “Um, yeah. Let’s go.”

Wordlessly, Lance reached down to grab his guitar and the two of them began walking along the sidewalk again. Lance realized then just how cold the night had become without the conversation to keep him warm. His breath left his mouth in tiny puffs.

Unfortunately, Keith seemed to notice this. He shrugged off his jacket and held it out to the other boy.

“Here,” He offered.

That only made Lance’s heart hurt worse. He shook his head, waving Keith off.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He kept walking.

“Lance?”

He stopped again with a sigh. When he turned around one more, Keith was standing right where he left him.

“Yeah?”

“Take the jacket.”

Keith's tone made it pretty clear that he wasn't asking. Begrudgingly, he took the jacket and slipped it on over his shoulders, holding his breath so he wouldn’t smell Keith all over it. He murmured his thanks and kept walking.

But, as they got further and further from the gas station, the night got colder. Lance found himself wrapping the leather tighter around himself to retain what little body heat he had left. Keith’s scent became harder and harder to ignore.

Finally, he gave up. He took a deep breath in, and let it wash over him. He felt the pressure in his chest ease almost immediately.

Another glance in Keith’s direction told him what he already knew.

_I am so. Freaking. Whipped._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy guess who's on time for once? ME! *Confetti*
> 
> Our boys are dumb as hell.
> 
> Thanks for your feedback! You all are the very, very best, and I'm so glad you're enjoying this! Expect another chapter this time next week.
> 
> ~DontTouchMySpaceBuns


	9. Sorry???

Hey guys!!

So... this isn’t part of the story, as you’ve probably realized. I just wanted to type this out real quick to let you guys know that there won’t be a chapter this week. I’ve had late play rehearsals all week and tons of schoolwork (and actual work) to do. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get one out next week, so consider this on hiatus until further notice. You guys are amazing!

Thank you,

DontTouchMySpaceBuns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I’ll delete this later :)


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